


In the Spectre's Shadow

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Musicalbabes, Not Relationship Tagging Until It's More Relevant, Sensitive Topics- Miscarriages, Some Minor Deezland, beetlebabes, parental abandonment, rewritten story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 113,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: A retelling of the events before, during, and after the musical, rating and warnings subject to change
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland
Comments: 100
Kudos: 280





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Day-o! He~ey-o! Daylight come and your girl's attempting another multi-chapter story. Let's make a bet on how far she can get before she gets bored and drop it. At any rate, enjoy the story, I hope to get pretty far with this.

When he had been spawned into the world of darkness, his mother had been a kind if not flawed soul. At least, that was how he remembered it. She’d fallen in love, and made mistakes. Everyone did. He found it odd she could have given birth, but demons could be both dead and fertile apparently. He never knew his father. For reasons his mother had said were beyond control or explanation, but that there were big plans which involved his existence.

He had repressed the truth. Because his very existence had slowly begun to curdle that soul which had bourne him. The sweetness once so genuine turned feigned and eventually to adamantine; hard, cold, and unyielding. When he would ask her questions -why he was so different from the other ghouls, why he had grown so fast, what in fact he _was_ \- he received censure and chastising. Where once the answer would have been, “Because you are different, you are meant for more.” so it had turned to, “The worst decision I have ever made, living _or_ dead.”

He hadn’t spent too much time with his mother. Just enough to remember that, and repress it, repress much that he didn't even recall repressing. He’d never known there existed rules in the land of the dead. Or that his very existence was an affront to them. Whatever he was, he wasn’t allowed. Not allowed to exist, not allowed to roam free, and certainly not allowed to stay in the hands of his parent. The universe itself had seemed to decree that one. So he was taken in, shown to a new woman. A prim and proper and no nonsense woman. Juno they called her. A caseworker. And she’d taken one look at him and turned to her superiors, asking,

“What am I supposed to do with him?”

With? No. Without. Always without. Without place, without name, without answers, without home. One of those things they gave him. A name they said, he needs a name. A name to know, a name to bind, a name to curse. Betelgeuse, Beetlejuice, Beteljuice. Names, spellings, letters all jumbled in his head. Named after a star, they said. One of the brightest stars in the sky, they told him. Destined for greatness, just like his mother had said. Juno, his mother, somewhere along the line they got tangled in his brain. One sweet and worthy of love turned cold and indifferent and cruel, the other sharp-tongued, sharply dressed, no-nonsense, but ultimately trying to do her best by him. That best just included repressing just about everything that made him, _him_.

“You need to get a job,” Juno had said, “Do some honest work,”

“Why is your hair purple?” the voices began to meld, one of them curious, the other angry. He’d forgotten what emotion purple evoked back then. He only knew what one it incited.

“I should have left like your Father!” his mother screamed, throwing a bottle of Netherworld booze at him. Though he’d grown quickly, his powers hadn’t been quite as controlled. And he’d lashed out, slamming her against the wall. She’d done nothing but laugh maniacally at him, drunk off her ass and just as bitter and angry.

“That’s right,” she’d sneered, “Just like your father, smack me around some more why don’t you? Prove you’re just as lowly a piece of filth as the rest of us. Promises, promises, you’re nothing but the culmination of empty promises and every bad decision I ever made! Go on you little shit! Hit me harder! C'mon, C'mon..." and then she'd scoff when he'd hesitate, binding him with nothing more than her will and a click of her fingers, "You don’t even have the guts to be a proper demon do you? All that power and you're such a fucking _waste_!”

He’d done as she asked, only because he didn’t know the difference. He didn’t know, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what mothers were supposed to be like, but he’d been frightened all the same. And the laughter continued. He didn’t know kindness, he didn’t know love, he didn’t even know his own strength, but Beetlejuice had learned. And that had been the night the rest of the Netherworld learned of _him_. 

It had taken Juno one evaluation to find the problem, that he had been stunted. Born dead, immensely powerful, but untrained and over disciplined. It really wasn’t that difficult to figure out, he couldn’t spell, couldn’t read, and didn’t even have control over basic supernatural abilities even most recently deceased could figure out on their own. So her solution had been to send him off to school. Where once again, he was faced with questions and no answers. Questions without answers led to the derision of his peers. Some of them dead before their time, others attempting rehabilitation by starting over as children. All of their words, vain, and mocking and cruel. His appearance, his uselessness with most things academic, his struggle to perform basic spectral tasks without needing to have a section of the school rebuilt at the slightest criticism. Beetlejuice was the biggest kid at that school, in terms of both weight and height. Numbers were powerful as they circled around him, chanting and jeering. But instead of fear as he remained rooted in the center of that crowd, he’d felt anger, and a sort of dark glee. He was bigger than them, he’d realized. For once, he was bigger, which meant they couldn’t hurt him. But he could hurt _them_.

It had taken some very powerful forces, forces far older than he was, combining their powers in order to restrain him. And all of that had certainly taken its toll on them as well. The carnage, however, was already done. Scattered limbs and bones and piles of undead flesh lying in heaps across the schoolyard. And in the middle of it all had been Beetlejuice with a bright red complexion, from head to clothes to foot. Since he had been assigned to Juno she had to take responsibility for him. And the punishment? Banishment, for the equivalent of a hundred human years. Along with the curse fully enacted upon his name. Three times, they had said, three times must it be spoken in unbroken succession. Elsewise he would remain in the human world, but apart from it. Able to observe, but not affect. Alone, and invisible.

Beetlejuice had never left the realm of Hell before then. Was only familiar with the vast emptiness that was the Netherworld and the subsequent city the denizens of the dead had built and dubbed the Neitherworld. And the dead, while they tried to act as though they were still alive, it was all a facsimile. At least, to him it was; human interaction, real living human interaction. It was different. The warmth of people that could be felt even as he passed through them like a winter breeze. He watched the humans grow. Watched the ancient cities rise and fall as he bounced back and forth between Hell and Earth. Breathers were interesting, creative, inspiring. And the more he watched, the more he longed to be a part of them. But without help, none of them could see him.

Though it had never been his intention, he’d become a sort of psycho pomp in a way. The Egyptians called him Anubis, the Greeks called him Hermes, the Romans called him Mercury. And countless other peoples gave him other designations. Shinigami, the Grim Reaper. The list went on. He would guide helpless souls to the afterlife, gifting them their handbooks and sending them on their way. Once or twice, he’d had to convince someone that they were in fact, recently deceased, and practically force them through the door. Man, humans were stubborn. Why he continued to do it when what he truly longed for was to cross that barrier and join them in life was something even he didn’t quite understand. But all the while, he watched, and he waited, and he began to plot. Eventually, a plan formed. He had the information, he knew it could be done. Three times they’d said. Spoken unbroken. Beetlejuice could gain his freedom, all he needed was the right pair of suckers to help him do it.

As the centuries passed he traveled all over the world. America, however, was one of the places he liked best. Big, and ancient, and yet new all at the same time. The older parts were the places he liked best. For whatever reason, he’d taken to haunting the streets of New York as of late. He liked that city perhaps the best, it never died. Someone was always going somewhere, always doing something. The constant noise was a comfort to someone who was all too used to silence. Made him feel like for once he was actually a _part_ of something. Like he _belonged_. But, as Beetlejuice wandered the streets he saw a funeral procession cutting through the traffic. Strange, but potentially interesting. He always found funerals a good time. The sadness and mourning a missing of someone gone. It was in a way, cathartic. A nice acknowledgement that it was death that turned people callous and cold, and that life was its exact opposite in so many ways.

Beetlejuice floated after the line of cars. Watching the mourners as they donned their finest blacks and biggest hats, clutching tightly at umbrellas as dark clouds passed through the night sky. The moon hung high in the sky overhead, casting a soft glow. Funny, he remembered the moon’s light being more silver and blue, but tonight it shone yellow. Almost like the sun. A fool’s sun, much like fool’s gold. Just as pretty as the real thing, but signifying nothing but lies and falsehood. Voices were hushed and muted as he wandered through the crowd. And then he saw it, the casket laying in the ground. The words of the reverend saying his eulogy as people came and silently cast flowers into the pit. He knew some of those flowers, calla lilies, for mourning, morning glories, for mortality, forget-me-nots, self-explanatory, white camellias, and two singular roses. Both of them blood red. They stood out amongst the other flowers piled atop the casket. But Beetlejuice’s eye was drawn to one of the mourners, a young woman who looked especially sad. Strange, must have been related. She began to slowly wander away, amongst the headstones. Beetlejuice followed after her, listening to her wax on about how sadness made one invisible. Funny, he was sad precisely _because_ he was invisible, but he could still relate. Especially since, even if one was invisible, nothing stopped, the world carried on without you, regardless of if you were there or not.

For the first time in forever, Beetlejuice wished he could be seen. If for no other reason than so that he could tell the girl he saw her. That she wasn’t invisible. That her wish, for someone to say her name could come true. But she wouldn’t see him, so he said nothing. She turned and returned to her father’s side, they shared a hug, and accepted the token pittances from the other mourners. He watched the girl’s face from behind the veil, a morbidly pretty little thing, even with the hair that looked like she’d taken scissors to it in a haphazard manner. But it was more the expression that she was somehow aware this was all shallow pageantry of some kind. That none of these people would really be here for her in her time of need. Something made abundantly clear with the hugs accompanying a parting remark. Another meaningless platitude like, “Call us if you need anything,”

Watching breathers say their goodbyes was boring. So he turned his attention to the tombstone. It was a relatively simple one, but clearly someone had dropped some money on this slab of granite. And the name on it read Emily. And that was it. Strange… he thought to himself. Normally breathers who had lost someone put more than just a name. Some type of epitaph, some well wishes, letting people know who she was. Hell, even some damn dates should have been there but there was absolutely nothing. Nothing but a name. A name of a dead woman, who must have meant _something_ to the people who were here at the grave, but nothing they thought important enough to put on her headstone? Those words were often the only thing that could save a person in their appeals. How those they left behind saw them. So why was there nothing there?

Before he could think too hard on it Beetlejuice saw the father and daughter heading to a car. Call it boredom, or idle curiosity, or even a self-indulgent whim, but he followed them. Back to a rather impressive single home considering they lived in one of the most crowded and expensive cities in the world. He watched the girl doff her veiled hat and run up the stairs to her room. Her father only barely having gotten the first syllable of what was likely her name out of his mouth. Clearly, the chick wasn’t in the mood for talking. The man sighed and went into another room. Tempting as the girl might have been something was telling him to look more closely at the dad. Or maybe it was his own lack of a paternal figure that caused the desire to observe. Who knew.

The office was very much what he might have expected it to be based solely on the living man’s appearance. Dark heavy woods, leather wingback chairs, books that had almost certainly never been disturbed from the shelves. Beetlejuice scoffed, what a yuppie. But still, he interestedly observed as the man went to check his answering machine. More of the same spiels heard at the funeral. And then, a pause, as the man came across a voicemail he seemed to actually want to listen to,

“Hi Mr. Deetz, this is Jane Butterfield. I know it’s still a little soon, but I think I know of the perfect house for you and your family. There’s a slight complication with the house being currently occupied, but I’m sure we can negotiate a price and get you settled in within the year. Give me a call back if you’re interested, alright? Okay, bye,”

And that was when he felt it. The slight tug. A tug that only grew more insistent as he watched this Deetz man pick up the phone and dial a number. He could only hear half of the conversation, the one on this end, but that tug became stronger and stronger with each passing sentence,

“Yes Miss Butterfield? Yes it’s Charles. Listen I’m sorry to call so late but we just got home and I wanted to return your call as soon as possible. You said something about a house? Where is it again?” he paused, “Winter River Connecticut? Sounds a little out of the way… is it the sort of place where you could settle down?” another pause, “Not very urbanized you say… but it has… potential?” his brow raised, “Yes, well, see what sort of offer you can get out of the couple currently living there, and then we’ll talk. Alright, alright goodnight.”

Winter River. Winter River. The name resounded in his head like a death knell. And it probably was. Years of carting souls off to the Netherworld had given him an almost preternatural ability to sense when death was coming. And death was coming to that couple in Winter River. He knew it. He could feel it in his bones. Those poor saps were on the end of someone’s hitlist. Maybe the little real estate lady. Whatever the cause, whatever the case, they were already as good as dead, dead, deadski. But perhaps… Beetlejuice thought to himself as he considered the possibilities… he could use these deaths to his advantage. He already knew the Deetz family was planning a move, and if they were already dead there was nothing to stop the family, a family of living people, from encroaching on the couple’s turf. It sure would be a shame if something were to keep the couple from finding their handbook, and finding out where they needed to go… now wouldn’t it?

Oh yes, Beetlejuice rubbed his hands together with sadistic glee. It was all coming together. Once those two bit the big one, all he’d have to do would be to stop them from leaving for the Netherworld. And even so, he had enough scary stories about Juno to keep them at bay. All he needed to do was get them to stay in their house with him, long enough to get one of the breathers to say his name three times, and then he’d be as good as gold. He’d be out, unshackled, and free to really raise some hell. With barely another glance at the man Beetlejuice disappeared, following that pull to a large lonely house on a hill in the middle of Nowheresville, Connecticut. Population, one couple, and an invisible demon. But with a little luck and some good old fashioned conning, that would all be changing very, very soon.


	2. The Maitlands Plus One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely encouragement of an absolute angel or two (ha) this story has new life and will hopefully be updated on a semi consistent basis. And now that I've jinxed myself, let's enjoy!

Usually time moved differently for the dead; but hell, at least it _moved_. But the last three months Beetlejuice had been painfully, _painfully_ aware of the passage of every hour, minute, second and day. Every mind melting moment spent in the company of the bland as white bread Maitlands. Adam and Barbara. Such a pair of sweet kids. Had everything going for them. A nice house, good jobs, relative economic freedom to indulge their useless hobbies that produced nothing but crap. Literally. At the moment, Adam was busy restoring some dumb old baby crib, and Barbara was finishing with yet another stupid jug. God fucking dammit! You’d think a couple as outwardly sweet and normal and Adam and Barbara Maitland would have some sort of secret shit that they wouldn’t want to see the light of day. Maybe they drowned puppies, maybe they put drugs in the otherwise farmer’s market organic sweets they handed out to local kids -fuck they were so boring that parents let their kids take home _sweets_ from the Maitlands- hell, he would have even accepted them just having a really freaky sex life. Just _something_ to make them more interesting than they appeared. But nope, he was shit out of luck. With the Maitlands, what one saw was what one got. And unfortunately for him, what one got was a couple of people potentially more yuppi-fied than the family he’d ditched back in New York. At least that daughter had had some sense of style.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Patience Beej, patience. It would be worth it. Three months of waiting around for them to kick the bucket. But it would all be worth it. He couldn’t risk leaving them alone now. He might miss his chance. Letting them go to the Netherworld meant having to wait yet again. He knew there were people looking at the house. He knew the Maitlands were attached to the house and would do anything to keep it. And he knew that the powerlessness that came with being ghosts would convince them that they needed his help to keep things the way they were. He’d been around for thousands of years. He could wait, patience while not his strong suit was something he had learned. But for the love of Satan below it had never taken people this long to die around him. Usually he showed up and Death had either already done its job or wasn’t very far behind. What the fuck was taking so long? And more importantly, how much longer would he have to listen to inane conversations about whether or not they wanted a family? It was enough to drive even the sanest person off the edge and he hadn’t even been on the cliff to begin with. But today, today he could feel it. Today, they were going to die.

“Barbara I’m home!” Adam greeted as he returned home. They exchanged kisses and pleasantries and God _above_ show him mercy it was all so sickeningly, nauseatingly _sweet_. If he had any capability to Beetlejuice would have vomited. Hell, he was willing to try just for the heck of it at this point. Beetlejuice was honestly amazed by all of this chatter. Pointless nonsense about traffic and Manchurian tung oil for his stupid little crib and this was honestly how they were spending their last day alive? Granted, they didn’t _know_ today was their last day alive, but still.

There was a sense of sadistic glee along with keen anticipation Beetlejuice felt as he watched them go about their simple stupid little lives for the last time. Adam fawning over his crib as he polished it and talked to himself. Both of them did that a lot. Or each other, they liked to talk with each other. But if he didn't already know from far more entertaining breathers he might have assumed watching them that life was a bunch of pointless nonsense and then one died. Barbara came back from the kitchen apparently done answering a phone call,

“That was the O’Briens calling,” she told her husband, who replied,

“Don’t you worry, I’ll have that crib finished before the baby’s born!” Adam assured her.

“She had it yesterday,” Barbara deadpanned. Then, trying to lighten the mood which had suddenly become super heavy all of a sudden, she added, “It’s a girl!”

“Oh,” Adam said, in that tone that implied he only said it because he really couldn’t think of anything else to say, “Okay um… well I guess I’ll just get this finished to be dropped off after lunch.”

“Make me a sandwich?” Barbara asked as Adam headed off to the kitchen. He stopped to give her a soft peck,

“One sandwich coming up,” Beetlejuice watched as Adam nodded and headed offstage, uh, he meant into the other room.

“Yeah, spoiler alert,” Beetlejuice spoke to partially to Barbara but mainly to himself, which wasn’t as weird because no one could hear him, “You’re never gonna eat that sandwich,”

It didn’t matter what he said or did. The Maitlands didn’t have a supernaturally inclined bone in their small-town white-bred bodies. Beetlejuice could -and had- walk right in front of them completely naked and they’d look right through him. Beetlejuice shook his head and sighed, Barbara was busy talking to herself again. Blah blah something pottery, blah blah something ceramics, blah blah panic about being a good mother causing her to try and force her maternal instincts onto inanimate objects she could and would then lock up safely away to try and hide from the paradoxical desire of wanting a kid while simultaneously being worried about fucking it all up. Except it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that any kid the Maitlands got their hands on wouldn’t have been any worse off than he’d been with his own mom. Well, maybe a bit fucked up from sheer normal boredom, but it wasn't like they'd raise a serial killer... probably. Meh, still a better outcome than his own mother. Damn that Juno, she didn’t even _deserve_ the title of mother.

Adam returned and placed a sandwich on the table as Barbara placed her little jug baby near the plate. Sweet Satan below Death sure was taking his damn time wasn’t he? Beetlejuice watched as Adam turned to his wife,

“So we got another phone call…” he began, looking slightly annoyed but also uncomfortable.

“From who?” Barbara asked, still somewhat distracted with picking at her food. Apparently internal midlife crises about whether or not to have children could do that.

“Three guesses,” Adam muttered darkly. Well, not darkly but it was very clear he didn't particularly care for whoever had been on the other line. Barbara sighed,

“That was cousin Jane again, wasn’t it?” she asked, “Let me guess, another high value offer for our house?”

“Precisely,” Adam nodded, “And then there was the argument that a house like this is just too big for only the two of us.” He tossed down the napkin and put his hands together, clearly trying to emulate whoever this Cousin Jane was, "'Oh hon, I don't _mean_ to come across as condescending and rude, but this house really is too big, it should go to a couple with a _family_ '" he paused a moment as Barbara remained somewhat upset by his imitation but clearly unable to refute it and then put his hands on her shoulders, "'Oh, oh honey that wasn't aimed at _you_ , but really, this house is too big,'. This house has nothing to do with her and I'll thank her to remember that before she tries to make a profit off it," Adam huffed, folding his arms.

Barbara sighed as she looked away from her husband, “I’m beginning to think she may have a point Adam,”

Beetlejuice’s interest was piqued, very rarely did breathers indulge in self-reflection. And more importantly, this might or might not put a couple of kinks into his plans. At least, it might if they didn’t die before they made their final decision on it.

“This house… we bought it with the intention of starting a family in it,” Barbara continued, “But… I mean look at us. Here we are, at the end of our ten year plan. We have a nice big house, and a great backyard, and even a minivan! We should have a family to go with it but-”

“Barbara,” Adam placed his hands on her shoulders, “If it’s a family you want we can always try a-”

“No!” Barbara cut him off sharply. Then, realizing how harsh her tone had been, she corrected herself, “I mean… no, honey. I just… I’m not ready to go through all that again. Hoping, wishing, dreading…” she looked off to the side, “ _Fearing_. I don’t think I’m strong enough to survive if,” she trailed off again. But whatever she was talking about, Adam seemed to understand.

“I know hon,” he pulled her closer, holding her tightly and rubbing a comforting circle on her back. Then, Beetlejuice watched as an idea seemed to light on the man’s face, “But maybe…” he began slowly, “There’s another way,”

Barbara pulled back and looked up at him, “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Adam began, “What if we adopted?”

“Adopted?” Barbara repeated, “Like… a cat or dog?”

“No honey,” Adam chuckled as he held her tighter, “Like… a kid.”

And that was where Beetlejuice saw the hope light in Barbara’s eyes too. Well, well, well, maybe he wouldn’t have to rethink his plan after all.

“Of course!” she nodded, “Fostering a kid! Why didn’t I think of that? And, and we could do it for one of those older kids, you know… the ones who’ve been in the system for a really long time?”

“I’m sure they’d appreciate it,” Adam replied, in a manner that suggested a more personal connection to the subject, “And it’s a great way to practice while we continue fixing up the house. Those kids can mostly take care of themselves, they don’t need things like a perfect bathroom or a ceiling with uncracked plaster, or no creaky floorboards, or even parents who speak more than a lick of Spanish. Well, okay, that last one may be a bit more important depending on who gets placed with us but still… I mean it’s not like we don’t have the rooms already. What do you say honey? Ready to take the next step?”

Barbara took a deep breath and said, “Ready?”

Adam smiled replied, “Set?”

They nodded and in unison said, “Let’s g-”

Before they could finish, the creaky floorboards under them creaked and cracked and then, there they went. Down into the basement. Oh, so _that_ had been what was taking so long. The consequences of age old rotting wood being left unchecked until under the strain of too much weight. Made sense now. Beetlejuice looked down and saw their bodies lying there on the floor. Oh dear. Seemed the fall had likely also knocked them out. It would be a while until they woke up, and probably even longer to get out of the basement since they probably didn’t realize they were dead. Great, even more waiting. Oh well, they were dead, and they’d committed to the decision not to sell their house before they died. That was good, it meant that so long as he got rid of the rulebook, they’d be very concerned with keeping their house to themselves. Speaking of, right… on… time. The book landed on the floor. Man, they really didn’t care about this stupid thing being damaged did they? Whatever, with a snap of his fingers there was a fire in the fireplace. But before he could stride on over and burn the book the damn door opened. And in strode a mousy looking little woman with predator in her eyes. Hmm… he wondered if this was little Janey.

“Adam?” she called, “Barbara?” funny how she was wandering around not noticing the giant fucking hole in the floor. Beetlejuice was torn between wanting her to fall in and break her neck and not wanting her to be stuck in the house with him and the Maitlands. Something about her just irritated him to no end, and had he the ability he gladly would have shuffled her off to the new arrivals bureau without a second thought. That without a second thought turned into without a first thought once he watched her discover the Maitlands’ bodies in the basement and a stilted gasp escaped her, "Oh, oh dear..." she fretted.

Fuck. They may have been dead already, but if their bodies got moved before they woke up... Shit. He had to do something, but what could he do? But Jane, Jane ended up surprising him as she returned to the hole and peered down, calling her relatives' names once more before seeming to figure out what had happened to them, and what their current status was in regards to life and death,

“This… is…” she began, momentarily biting her knuckle before releasing it, “Perfect timing. Now, let me see where they kept their will...” she said as she went puttering about the house, poking in rooms to try and find that all important piece of paper. And, given the way she'd reacted, likely doctoring it a bit too.

Wow. Just... _wow_. Beetlejuice merely stared, watching Jane go about her business, disappearing up the stairs when the kitchen and living room had proved fruitless for her.Two people had just died, people she was related to and was theoretically supposed to care about, and here she was only concerned with making a profit so long as the will gave her the power to sell the house. If she wasn’t so fucking irritating, he might have been impressed. But, whatever. The _real_ important part was getting this book burned before the Maitlands came to. And apparently, so was Jane’s acquisition of their will. She walked out with the piece of paper muttering to herself, and Beetlejuice wouldn’t have been surprised if she conveniently “forgot” to alert anyone about the corpses stinking up the basement for a couple of days at least. Welp, at least without the need to closely watch the Maitlands so he could jump on their deaths, time started to set back to normal. Normal for the dead. But before he could toss the book to be reduced to cinders and carbon monoxide Beetlejuice heard the sounds of stirring. Hm… that could be anything, from the Maitlands waking up to the house settling, it was old as balls after all. Without really thinking about it he tucked the book under his arm and dusted off his hands. Geez, these suckers sure were taking a while. 

Ah, but yes, there it was. Adam’s voice asking about whether or not Barbara was okay. Alright, what was the plan for this interaction? He was usually just shipping souls off to the Netherworld to be dealt with, so being a people person wasn’t really his forte. Well… maybe he could give them a little time to figure things out on their own. After all, giant fucking hole in the floor with bodies very visible if one looked down. If they couldn’t put two and two together they were bigger morons than he thought. Either way, super easy manipulation and then he’d be free. Adam’s arm reached up to clutch at the lip of the hole first, then came his head, and finally his torso as he also helped Barbara up. Beetlejuice merely stood there by the fireplace, watching and waiting to see how long it would take them to realize they were dead. Considering how bland as white bread they were, he estimated maybe what might feel to them to be about five minutes? Meanwhile he watched the sun set and rise yet again. At least one day had already passed.

He heard the tell tale signs of screaming, which probably meant that they’d seen their mortal meat puppets lying like marionettes with their strings cut broken on the floor of the basement below. Ah yes, Barbara was worrying about her fingers being on fire, Adam concerned about how they hadn’t figured out they didn’t survive that fall sooner. And then Adam, adorably trying to be the big strong man his wife was apparently under the impression she’d married, taking control by telling her the good things that they still had. That they were still together, still had their house, and that because of that, maybe nothing had to change. Boy was he gonna have fun shattering _that_ little illusion.

“Hi,” he greeted, standing there by the fireplace. And there it was again, screaming. Ah what a beautiful sound. How long had it been since he last heard that sound? Probably since last week at least. Of course, it lost some of its luster when you only got screams from the recently deceased. How he longed to hear living screams. The kind associated with pounding hearts and soiled pants.

“Okay well,” he moved forward just an inch, and immediately the Maitlands shrank back. This may be a little more difficult than he’d first anticipated. He sighed and conjured up some backup to help put on a show. Most recently deceased could be stopped by a bit of showmanship. And okay, this wasn’t working as effectively as it usually did. He really should have known that double vanilla Adam and Barbara wouldn’t have been enthralled by his abilities right off the bat. And oh, look at that, out the corner of his eye he saw some breathers come in and head for the basement. Must have been the recovery team for the bodies. Naturally though that little bit of stage sleight of hand had escaped the Maitlands' notice.

“Babs!” he exclaimed, taking her, dipping her, and planting one right on her. Those damn lips didn't move, but he had a fun time groping here all the same. Adam broke them apart and Beetlejuice couldn't help but wonder,

“Christ man, do you know how to pick 'em or what?”

Adam stood there a moment clearly confused, “What?”

“Let me ask you a serious question,” he slung an arm around the other man's shoulders and walked them a short distance away from Barbara, “Guy talk, serious guy talk shit here; how’d you do it?”

Again, all Adam could respond with was, “What?”

“Don't play coy with me flannel man, how'd you get her to marry you? What was it? Hm,” he let go and looked at the man, “No, not the stable job, not the physique or lack thereof rather, hm… seriously doubt you're as good a lay as she is… oh I've got it!” He snapped his fingers, “It's because she can dom the shit out of you isn't it?”

The other man spluttered embarrassedly for a moment before he pushed Beetlejuice away and demanded to know who the hell Beetlejuice thought he was. Unable to resist a chance to screw with anyone he responded,

“Don’t you recognize me Adam?” at the other man’s continued skepticism he added, “I’m your father.”

Yet another moment of disbelief. Just when Beetlejuice thought there might be some backbone to this spineless wimp he saw Adam’s look soften, “Dad?” his tone was soft, hopeful even.

“You are… adorably stupid,” Beetlejuice proclaimed, grabbing the man’s collar and yanking him down for a kiss as well. It hadn’t lasted nearly as long as the kiss with Barbara had, mainly because Barbara was clearly the more attractive of the two and Beetlejuice was far more interested in screwing her and screwing _with_ the strait-laced flannel wearing schmuck. He let the man go with an over dramatic pop and began to dust off his jacket.

“And now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way, let’s get down to business,”

“Business? What business? What is happening here!” she proclaimed, trembling violently as Adam curled himself around her, valiantly but ineffectively trying to protect her.

“Look sweetheart,” Beetlejuice began, returning to his spot over by the fireplace, “I know it’s a lot to process, I get that; I do. However, the good news is that you guys died in your own home. Would have made for a very uncomfortable century and a half if you hadn’t.”

“Century and a half, what are you talking about?” Adam asked him.

He should have burned the book when it had gotten here, but it might serve as a useful prop so long as he didn’t let them actually look at it, “Ah yes, well,” Beetlejuice held up the handbook, “It’s all here in the rulebook,” with a flourish he cracked the tome open and pointed to a random passage that in actuality was on spectral limitations and designated abilities for level one spirits, commonly known as the recently deceased and cleared his throat, ‘Chapter One, Section Three, Paragraph Eight, Subsection B,’ ahem; ‘All recently deceased parties who are victims of accidental deaths are subject to a mandatory haunting period in their location of death for a period of one hundred and fifty years, during which time they are not allowed to leave the haunting perimeters as laid out by the spectral zoning laws of the Bureau for the Recently Deceased; after which their probationary haunting period is terminated they may choose to stay or to move on as they so please,’ Yep,” he closed the book with a snap, “It’s all right there, in the book. Now, shall we find out where tomes of the recently deceased go?” with absolutely no warning he tossed it into the flames.

“No!” the Maitlands cried, watching the book disintegrate before them, “Why would you do that?” Barbara asked while Adam added, “What if we needed that book for later?”

“Oh come on,” Beetlejuice scoffed as he folded his arms at them, “That book reads like stereo instructions. You wouldn’t have understood half the shit in it anyways. A lot of technical bullshit for something I can sum up for you two easily. You two, are dead; dead, dead, deadski. Got that? You know what that means?”

“We lost out on the chance to do everything we ever dreamed of?” Adam suggested. Barbara nodded.

Beetlejuice took a breath in to answer because he knew the probability was on his side in the odds of the Maitlands having a wrong answer. Then exactly what that wrong answer was had sunk in. He paused. While technically, yes they were right on that account, that was not the exact answer he was looking for, so he pointed a finger at them and deadpanned, “No,” Beetlejuice shook his head at them, “No, no, not even close.”

“Well then what are we?” Barbara asked, looking for all the world as if she genuinely didn’t know.

He didn’t need working nerves to have a headache forming at the base of his skull. Beetlejuice rubbed at his temples and sighed, “Work with me here please. What the fuck do you think souls that hang around without bodies are called?”

Not receiving an answer in a timely manner he shouted, “Ghosts! You’re ghosts dammit!”

“ _Oh_ ,” was the collective response. He wanted to pull off his face. How the fuck could people be that dense? Take a deep breath Beej, it was only to his advantage that they were this stupid. Made them easier to manipulate.

“Anyways,” he huffed as he crossed his arms again, “Back to the matter at hand, I’m here to help you guys.”

“Help us do what?” the Maitlands asked.

“I’m gonna teach ya how to scare people,”

“People? Why would we need to scare people?”

“Man you two really don’t get how the whole being dead thing works do you?” Beetlejuice asked them, “See, here's the thing; you're still in a house, which by all accounts in the living world is up for grabs. You wanna share this place? No, of course y'don't, because sharing is lame. And so are you but I digress. You're gonna wanna keep this place all to yourselves right?"

"Right," the Maitlands nodded, following along so far.

"Well then you're gonna need to learn how to stake a claim on what's yours, ghost style. And considering what I’ve… _observed_ in my preliminary investigations, you two are gonna need all the help you can get.”

“Why on earth would we have to do that?” Adam demanded.

“Because I happen to have insider knowledge that that there are very soon going to be some people you’re going to want to scare off,”

“Like who?” Barbara asked, hands on her hips. Mmm, hips. Beetlejuice remembered he should probably answer her question and right on time, he heard the telltale sounds of a moving truck outside,

In a game show host announcer’s voice he told her, “The people who bought your house!”

A hand waved towards the door caused it to open as if by his own magic, but in reality was simply due to the movers beginning to clean out the furniture the Maitlands had left behind.

“What?” Barbara exclaimed, as Adam protested them beginning to remove their furniture, “But… but _how_? I mean, we just died!”

“Correction,” Beetlejuice retorted, “You _feel_ like you just died. Time moves differently for the dead, but it don’t stop movin’. All things considered, I’d say it’s been about…” he counted off on his fingers, trying to see what he remembered about real estate transactions, “Three months?”

“Three months?” Adam exclaimed, “You can’t sell a house in three months!”

“You do if you have a money hungry bitch realtor for a relative and a rich ass schmuck who wants the hell out of the city,” Beetlejuice informed them, “Which clearly seems to be the case in this instance.”

“Cousin Jane?” Barbara blanched, rather, she would have if she’d had any blood left to drain out of her face.

“Ding ding ding!” Beetlejuice waggled a finger, “Hey, at least she gave you a funeral, very easily could have left your bodies to rot. But then again, it was probably bad enough for the house value that people died in it. Wouldn’t wanna lose any more money by leaving the corpses there too.”

“That, that!” Adam seethed as the movers continued to ignore them, “That… cold-hearted snake!”

“Impressive Adam,” Beetlejuice folded his arms at the other man and raising an unimpressed brow at him, “Tell her how you really feel why don’t ya?”

"But... but," Adam sputtered, "She shouldn't have been able to! Our will clearly stated if we died with no children of our own the house and surrounding property were to be donated to the town!"

"Closest living relative first," Barbara reminded him gently, "Within fifteen miles, Jane's place just barely misses the mark in terms of distance,"

"But it still misses!"

Barbara sighed, “I should have known, Jane was always concerned with this house being too big for just us. Of course, she _knew_ she stood to make a pretty penny off a sale on a place like this. Especially after all the work we put into it,” she wrapped her arms around herself, “I don’t blame her, I don’t know if I’d want to keep a house my family died in either."

"Yeah... about that..." Beetlejuice cut in, "She was in here the day you two bit it, overheard her mumbling something about a will. You two wouldn't know if she happened to be skilled in document doctoring, alterations, or forgery wouldja?" when they were silent and staring at him he added, "Or perhaps... she wouldn't _know_ anyone skilled in that particular department, right?"

"No," Barbara whispered, "She... she wouldn't,"

"Then explain why the house is getting sold," Beetlejuice folded his arms at the other woman.

"She... she wouldn't, she _wouldn't_!" Barbara insisted, "Jane is family, there's no way she would-" she couldn't even bring herself to put voice to the betrayal.

"Take a look around Babs," Beetlejuice gestured around them. At the current moment the place was empty, but some furniture was already missing, "Think it's pretty obvious she did."

"Even so,” she looked up and noticed someone making off with her pottery, “Hey wait! Stop! You thieves!”

Beetlejuice watched as both Adam and Barbara ineffectually tried to get the moving men to stop while he gave them sarcastic words of encouragement as they failed. Eventually, their frustration got the better of them and they turned to him,

“They can’t see us!” Adam shouted at him. Beetlejuice snorted, smirk curling the corner of his lips,

“No shit Sherlock, keen observation,” Beetlejuice said from where he now leaned against the dining room table.

“Well why can’t they see us?” Adam and Barbara asked him.

“Ah, fuck, the handbook may have had some use after all. Oh well,” the demon shrugged, pulling out a pointer to help his presentation, “Easy enough to summarize. Chapter Two, Section One; ‘On Interactions with the Living World and Members of Therin; Live people ignore the strange and unusual.’."

"Strange and unusual?" they repeated, "But... we aren't strange _or_ unusual!"

"Yeah, I noticed," Beetlejuice snarked, running his free hand through his hair as he paced between the couple, "Alright, let me put it to you this way; the living ignore the dead; we are,” he waved a hand in front of his face as a gesture of not being seen and augmenting it with a whooshing sound effect, “Invisible." and here he swished the pointer so that it thoroughly smacked Barbara in the ass. She rubbed at the sore spot while he collapsed the prop and stowed it back in his pocket, "Y’see, most breathers, like you two were, are so caught up in worrying about their stupid, meaningless little lives that they almost never notice anything strange and/or unusual.”

“Almost?” the Maitlands keyed in on hopefully. Beetlejuice’s smirk grew wider and more deranged. Taking the bait, hook, line, and sinker.

“That’s right,” he nodded, tone one of mock praise, “Almost. Some breathers can notice on their own, less and less as time goes on. But, most won't notice. Not unless you make them. And since you guys couldn't scare the broadside of a barn on your own, that’s where I come in; you hire me to help you scare them off, and you can have your house all to yourself once again. Sounds like a sweet deal don’t it?”

“But what do you want?” the Maitlands asked in response, “And if you’re so good at scaring, why can’t you do it for us?”

“Welp, more on that from the handbook, specifically the intermediate interface chapter on haunting,” Beetlejuice informed them, “Your house, your job to get them out, among other things. And as for my fee,” he juiced himself up a cigarette, “It’s a small price, an itty bitty price, more of a favor really. But we can talk about that after you’ve agreed; so, we got a deal?”

“Well…” the pair were hemming and hawing when the movers returned to take the crib Adam had been working so hard on, handling it with carelessness and revealing it was destined for the junkyard. Adam once again tried to stop them, the lesson that he was both dead and invisible clearly not having sunk in quite yet.

“They can’t take that to the dump!”

“Welp, you’re shit outta luck because they’re taking it to the dump,” Beetlejuice told them, “And without my help, they’ll do that to every last thing in this place,” he waved a hand around the kitschy decor the couple had worked so hard on, “So, when can I start?”

Adam looked helplessly towards his wife, leaving the final decision in her hands. Barbara looked between everything that had just happened and sighed reluctantly. What choice did they really have? “Alright,” she relented, “You’re hired,”

“Great choice, Babs, truly great choice,” Beetlejuice flicked the nicotine stick out of existence and grabbed the Maitlands by the arms, “You want your house back?"

" _Yes_ ," the Maitlands emphasized as if they shouldn't have to.

"Then let's go and get it! You're really in luck you two, because you've got the perfect teacher. I am fully committed to helping you get these people out of your house. And now, first lesson; get in the attic,”

“The attic?” they tilted their heads to the side in confusion, “Why the attic?”

Because he needed to keep them alone and isolated long enough to both see what he was working with, and if necessary, possess them and get the job done himself. But he couldn’t tell them that. Instead, he sighed again, “Alright look, I’m gonna level with you here, if we want this thing to work between us, I’m gonna need you two to trust me,”

“Well, can you blame us for being a little shaky on that part?” Adam asked in response, clearly alluding to all the gross treatment they'd thus far received from him.

“Yeah no offense mister but, you give me the creeps,” Barbara added.

“And you give me a boner but that’s all besides the point,” Beetlejuice shot back at them, “Between the three of us here, who’s the bio-exorcist?”

“Umm…”

“I’ll save you your nonexistent breath, it’s me. I’ve been scaring schmucks like these yahoos for millennia. And since this isn’t a my house my rules type of deal, I’m gonna need to impart some of my centuries of wisdom onto you. But for now, I'm gonna need ya to claim one space in the house for yourselves so we have something to work with, got it?”

“Okay…” the Maitlands acquiesced as they began heading for the stairs. And then he added,

“Oh and one more thing?” the Maitlands paused, “Next time you wanna know something, don’t ask stupid questions! Now go, go!” he shooed them up, following with a devious grin. He had his puppets, now all he needed was a stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


	3. A Change of Scenery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So with any luck, the chapters will be getting longer now that the basic plot has been set up. I want to try and keep things moving rather than dedicate a whole chapter to every single scene. With that out of the way, enjoy!

Charles Deetz was a man willing to do anything and everything to protect his family. And that also included keeping certain information to himself. He knew, it wasn’t right to not tell Lydia the truth behind their little trip, but she was still so fragile, so broken after the loss of her mother. He couldn’t tell her, not until it was absolutely necessary. And even then, maybe not at all. Was it potentially selfish of him? Absolutely, Charles was no fool. He was a bit more self-aware than people realized. But in time, Lydia would understand. The best way to deal with grief was to push past it and move forward. The past was nothing but a rock you either let yourself be tied to or you didn’t. And Charles was choosing not to tie himself down. Hopefully if in only this one instance, Lydia would follow in his footsteps. Charles sighed as he took in the facade of their new home. It was amazingly pristine, the view from the top of the hill was spectacular, with the whole rest of the town laid out before him. He felt like the king of the world, master of his domain, fresh air filling his lungs without the taste of pollution he’d unwittingly become accustomed to living in New York. Winter River was one of the older small towns in New England, which meant plenty of history, plenty of stories, plenty of places to be developed for him, and plenty of places to explore for Lydia. With any luck, the change of scenery might bring back her smile, if only for a moment. He strode in after Delia, the life coach he’d hired to help his daughter cope with everything that had happened in the past six months. She was humming to herself in pitch with the triangle she’d rung.

“Yes,” she nodded to herself, licking her tiny striker. What a flirt, “There’s very good energy here Charles. _Very_ good energy,”

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” Charles informed her, “I took a big risk buying this place,” he looked around and grimaced, this place was going to need a total makeover, “Can you believe people actually _lived_ here? It’s like a nursing home for sad cats,”

But Delia assured him that so long as they fixed the visuals of the house, no one would really know how the space was almost too big, crushing the insecure, and probably older than it looked. He had the distinct feeling she wasn’t referring to the house as she said that, but he wasn’t too concerned about it regardless. All he wanted to think about was the opportunity to have a lucrative fresh start, and for it to help his daughter. They could start over here, no one knew anything about them, no one would make any judgements. The rumors were already swirling back in New York, and Lydia... in her state she just wouldn't be able to handle it. It would be better to start over here, for everyone. But instead of thinking on the reasons why, he waxed on about chasing Maxie Deen’s backing for this project, it would mean everything. Delia, as was her wont, was more concerned about him. Even with the mumbo jumbo she regurgitated from her supposed guru, it was hard not to be weak to that sort of abject adoration. He stared at her a moment from across the dining room table that had been left behind. The movers were in the process of clearing out the old and bringing in the new, mostly because he was crunched for time. He noticed the fire in Delia’s eyes and felt a stirring in response. The next thing he knew, they were on the table necking like a couple of teenagers. That was when he remembered himself, and more importantly, Lydia.

“Maybe we should just _tell_ her about us,” Delia advised him, “And about-”

“No!” Charles cut her off, “No,” It wasn’t that he was embarrassed about the nature of his relationship with Delia. He wasn’t, Delia was what he had needed, and what he continued to need. Someone he could tell about everything that happened, and not feel judged, because she had her own things going on. Had Emily…. Had everything not happened the way it had, he might have been less reticent. But everything was still so fragile and new. It was a situation that deep down he knew he was flailing to try and control and maybe things _would_ be better if he just manned up and told Lydia the truth, about everything. But... no, Lydia couldn’t know. She was still so broken up about Emily, she wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t understand at all. And then, then what? Charles might never see his daughter smile again.

“She doesn’t have my resilience,” Charles made yet another excuse as he shook his head, going to fix the chairs so when Lydia did walk in she didn’t suspect anything to be amiss. The routine was old hat at this point, months of Delia trying to convince him what they needed to do was to tell Lydia of their romantic involvement, and of him making excuses to avoid having to do it. Delia apparently also needed to be reminded of what she was here to do. Which wasn’t him, not primarily. She was here to help Lydia. He still wasn’t a firm believer in this whole life coaching thing, but he just wasn’t ready to say that he and Lydia needed therapy. Besides, if there was one thing his daughter had inherited from him it was her inquisitiveness and an ability to worm information out of anyone. Which was something he couldn't risk when things were still so fragile.

Nobody told Lydia Deetz anything. Most of what she knew, she knew because she’d found out on her own. This was especially true now, now that everything had changed. Sure, her father had _eventually_ come through to tell her they would be going to Connecticut because her father had bought a house for the prospect of business, but she’d figured that out long before he’d actually told her. Everyone treated her like she was some fragile little girl, incapable of learning anything because it might warp her feeble little mind or upset her delicate female sensibilities. Or, they treated her like she was already broken, and needed to be fixed into normality and complacency. Like Delia, well, like Delia when the woman wasn’t busy trying to throw herself at Lydia’s father. Lydia wasn’t an idiot, she had eyes after all. That and Delia “positively” reeked of mid-life desperation. Thank the stars her father wasn’t that fickle. It had only been… wow. Had it really been that long she wondered to herself? It still felt like only yesterday. Then again, how could it not feel like no time had passed, for her at least? Ever since her mom had died, nobody saw her, they looked right through her. Even her father, it seemed less that he called her because he saw her, wanted to be around her, and more because she needed to be shuffled off from place to place. Dress up, put on a smile, put on a show. No wrong moves, Daddy’s doing business now. Why not socialize with the other kids?

Ah yes, the other kids. Normal kids, prodigious kids, all the tops of their classes and destined for great things. They were Grade A alright, Grade A pricks and assholes and bitches. If nothing else, Lydia was going to enjoy this trip because it got her the hell away from them. And maybe pulling some pranks on Delia might make herself feel a little better. Mom would have done the same; but then again if Mom were here, Delia wouldn’t be. Even so, Lydia slipped out of the car with her bouquet of calla lilies and wandered around the outside facade. She looked up at the house her father intended to gut. It seemed so innocuous, and yet so bland. It didn’t look anything like a house anyone would want to live in, and it certainly wouldn’t after her father let Delia have her way with it. Towards the top of the house, she saw a small window probably located in the attic. She peered up, almost certain she’d seen something moving, a shadow or something. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking, the desire for something strange and unusual to happen to break the almost disquieting normalcy of the house and the town below it. Lydia turned her attention back to the ground. The movers were taking things off the truck, and there was a covered couch just sitting benignly on the lawn. Display furniture her father had said. Hmm… Lydia slipped beneath the cover and waited. Sure enough, just as the sheet settled the movers lifted it up and brought it into the house. She heard her father and Delia talking, with the former asking what it meant to be a life coach, and Delia’s best attempt at a sultry response of it being,

“Almost anything,”

Gag. Just in time it seemed, the movers took the sheet off and revealed her laying there with her presentation that of a corpse laid in a casket. When she didn't hear her father noticing her she decided to grab his attention,

“Hey dad,” Lydia began, cracking her eyes just a bit to look at him, “Does this couch make me look dead?”

She listened a beat, waiting for his answer, already knowing the type of response it would be. Sure enough, “Lydia I am not going to answer a question like that. And will you get your feet off that couch? It's a display couch for the model home,”

“You think a perfect model home would look lived in,” Lydia muttered to herself as she mulled over his words and stood from the sofa. Deciding to be a bit theatrical she added, “But that _would_ make a great epitaph, I think I'd like that on my tombstone, ‘Lydia Deetz, died on a display couch,’” Lydia held the bouquet in one hand and dramatically put the back of her other against the crown of her head, “What do you think dad?”

“I think,” Charles replied, brow drawing together in consternation, “That you are far too old to be acting like this. For god’s sake Lydia, you're seventeen years old and here you are behaving like a child!”

“Well I'm not the only one,” Lydia mumbled as she folded her arms and looked away. She hated the reminder of how old she was. Seventeen, the first birthday without mom. The first of many occasions to come without mom. And he didn’t seem to care. He was pulling the adult equivalent to putting one’s hands over their ears and screaming, “la la la I can’t hear you!” like a child being told something they don’t want to hear. He wouldn’t even let Lydia say her mother’s _name_. But _she_ was the child? Yeah, right.

Delia took the moment to step in with her manufactured cheer and desire to do her job and help, “Lydia darling,” she gently chided, “We talked about this sad, saggy, sadness stuff, and you remember what I said, don’t you?”

“If I recall correctly it was, ‘Stop acting so weird I need this job!’” Lydia retorted with a smirk as Delia worriedly shot a glance over at Charles.

“Ahahaha, _no_ ,” was Delia’s pointed reply, she took a deep breath in and then corrected, “I’m positive I quoted my guru, Otho,”

“You mean the cultist?” Lydia quipped before she could help herself. Delia was far too easy a target when she started talking about her guru, especially when the man was insulted. She would rage on and on about how he had saved her from a life of meaninglessness and spiritual sleep. And how the rituals, chants, and incantations he’d taught her had woken her to her true potential in the universe and how her offerings would bring back good fortune and karma unto her. But yeah… totally not a cultist mindset cultivation of fanatical and irrational devotion in someone desperate for anything to be a part of. Nope. Not at all.

“He’s not a cultist he’s a visionary guru offering sound life advice and building a deserved following through it!” Delia shouted. And then took a deep breath and centered herself again, “Apologies, I’m a little sensitive about that, and I am working on it. Anyways, Otho says that, ‘Sadness is like kale salad, no one likes it, throw it out,’.”

Lydia gave the other woman a sarcastic smile, “Yeah, great advice,” she snipped, “Nothing like repressing your feelings and pretending they don’t exist to lead you to emotional stability and happiness Delia.” with the female competition firmly cowed for the moment by unrelenting hyper-intelligent logic, Lydia unfolded her arms and walked over to her father, “Dad, how long do we have to be here? I wanna go home,”

He gave her a pained look as he sucked in a breath. Oh no, that couldn’t lead to anything good. Here it came, the bad news and the excuses, “About that,” he began almost sheepishly, as if this was something he was both excited and nervous to share with her. Oh here it came, three, two, one, “It’s just… after everything we’ve been through in the past couple of months I thought… a fresh start would be exactly what we needed,” he paused a moment to let the truth of his shocking revelation fully sink in, “So I’m selling the old house, and we’re going to live here! Plus,” he added, “I have the opportunity to use this place as the flagship home for a proposal for a new gated community. If we get bids, we can make some extra money and bring some of New York down here, so it’s a win-win,”

“Are you kidding me?” Lydia deadpanned, unable to believe this. Six months, it had only been six months. And he wanted to throw out every connection like it meant absolutely nothing? “No, no Dad you can’t do that!” Lydia protested, “Dead Mom loved that house!”

“Dead Mom?” Charles raised a brow at her, “Is that seriously what you’re calling her now?”

“Why not?” Lydia folded her arms, tensing and readying for another fight. They’d had several of those in the past six months. And strangely enough, Lydia liked them. At least she knew her dad remembered that she existed when she made him mad, “She’s my mom and she’s dead, ergo; dead mom.”

She saw him raise a fist to refute her. His jaw clenched as if he weren’t going to say something but desperately wanted to out of emotional outburst. Her father took a deep breath in, then sighed turning to Delia, “Delia, life coaching, now please,”

No. She wasn’t going to let this go. He’d started it by moving them here without even _asking_ her, and now he would finish it whether he wanted to or not. She ignored Delia and tried to convince him, reminding him that everything they were was in that house. Reminding them of when they’d first moved in, with it all rundown and decrepit. But it had been the house mom wanted, and with a gentle smile that was so unlike her strange and unique disposition, she’d told them that they needed to clean up. And how fun she’d made it by putting on calypso and singing along. Lydia took her father’s hands and urged him to remember, to think about her, for just a moment. But Charles pulled away as if pained.

“No, Lydia,” he told her, sounding as if he were denying her something so insignificant as a chance to go out with friends. As if she had done something _wrong_. “You have moped around for months, dressing in black and obsessing about death. I know your- that you might have been _told_ otherwise, but you are not an Addams and you will present yourself accordingly.”

“I _like_ this stuff dad,” Lydia folded her arms at him, “And I’m in mourning,”

“It’s a phase,” Charles countered, “And one we are done with,”

And despite knowing better, Lydia fell to one of the oldest cliches in the book, “It’s not a phase Dad!”

“It _is_ a phase Lydia," Charles informed her as though he, the adult who refused to talk about the issue, knew everything, "One that I am tired of dealing with and one that’s long overdue to end. We are done with morning, and we are done with being sad. Do you hear me?” he took her by the shoulders, “We. Are. _Done_. We’re moving forward now!” he was all sudden joviality, and the shift was quick enough to give Lydia whiplash, “All of us!” he noticed the movers coming in and applauded them, encouraging them to keep it coming as he disappeared up the stairs and away from the problem.

Lydia could only roll her eyes as her father used his false enthusiasm to passive aggressively berate her. Telling her they had only two days to become as model a family as the house and idea her father intended on selling and that he _knew_ she wouldn’t let him down. In other words, complete plastic. A family of Barbies. All form, no substance. Didn’t matter if they actually _were_ a family, only so long as they were able to perform as one. Could pretend to be one. God, when had she become an actor in her own damn life?

“Yeah,” Lydia muttered darkly as she turned her back on her father’s retreating form, “It’d be a real damn shame if we all let each other down, now wouldn’t it?”

And Delia, anxious to earn that paycheck, wandered over to her gushing about how exciting it all was. A house to redecorate, a dinner party to plan, etcetera, etcetera. Lydia was honestly in no more a mood to deal with false platitudes and manufactured wokeness for the day, and decided to get rid of her life coach in the best way possible. Turning her own stupid teaching methods against her.

“Hey Delia,” Lydia interrupted her rambling, “Knock knock,”

The other woman was seemingly so desperate for her methods to work she never questioned when one seemingly did out of the blue. Even though she’d been around her case long enough to know better by now. Her face lit up and she responded with the expected, “Who’s there?”

When Lydia turned her back on the woman while explaining she’d need to open the door to find out Delia seemed confused. While it was not the direct result she was hoping for she was nevertheless too optimistic. And so, she played along, and that was when Lydia had her. How long had it been since she’d taken joy in anything? Too long, at least a couple of hours. Sad that the only thing that could bring her joy now was scaring the shit out of the hired help. But, if Delia wanted to but into Lydia’s life, she deserved every strain on her blood pressure she received. Delia jumped practically a foot in the air, an actually impressive feat considering the woman was in heels. She backed away, bumping into the leftover table, sure to be replaced with something garish and expensive. This was going to be the template for houses a bunch of rich asshats were going to buy only to sit empty. And considering how rich the target demographic was, it wouldn’t surprise her if her father had cookie cutter furniture ready to put in there too.

“You are so weird Lydia,” Delia breathed as she tried to recover from the fright, “But that’s alright, because we're gonna _fix_ that. And these things take time, so much to do… hm, we can hold off on our afternoon smile exercises for today. Right now I need to find a room to bless, and you-”

Sensing this was set on another long winded diatribe -Delia had an unspoken penchant for those- Lydia raised her fist again, “Knock knock,”

And just like a pavlovian dog, Delia immediately backed down, “Nope, nope, not answering, I have caller ID, I mean… a peephole. I can see you, you’re scary, goodbye.”

And then there was one. She was alone. She was utterly alone. Waxing poetic on the nature of loneliness, in a big empty room, all by herself. Well, maybe she wasn’t, choosing to believe that Dead Mom was there with her, watching over her. It was comforting at the very least. Lydia wandered around the living area, talking and thinking. She wasn’t sure what to believe, and logically she knew she was talking to herself, but she couldn’t resist the allure of the idea that Dead Mom was with her all the same. Dead Mom had always understood, Dead Mom had never judged, Dead Mom had been just as strange and unusual as her, maybe even more so. Not as maudlin or macabre, but definitely just as out of the ordinary. A shadow of comfort in a world of too bright and fake mundanity. Lydia pulled out her camera and began wandering around. The world always seemed so much simpler when viewed through a lens. She found a small cobweb in the corner of a window, what a pretty subject.

Lydia stood after a couple shots and lamented to herself. Now that she took a good look at the inside, she had to admit this place had character. It wasn’t all that bad. Lydia felt that if she _had_ to stay she could probably learn to live here. But only with it like this; and her father’s greed and Delia’s taste in interior design were sure to ruin all that. Oh if these walls could talk, she wondered what they might say. This place was old, very old. How many people had come and gone, how many feet had once walked these halls? How many memories did this one structure hold? A house was so much more than a building, meant to be torn apart and rebuilt at any one person’s whim. Was it not a living entity all its own? Lydia liked to think so, which was why it hurt that she had to leave her home behind. Her father may have wanted her to forget, but she remembered.

“Dead Mom,” Lydia murmured to herself, “I need some help here, if you’re listening. I don’t know what to do anymore. Dad, he’s… changed since you’ve been gone. He wants to forget, he wants to pretend that everything’s okay. He wants smiles, pretty smiles and antics like I’m some kind of circus animal. And I just can’t do it Mom. He sold our home,” Lydia peered into the box of her things that had been brought inside, stumbling upon a family photo album, “Or was it really ever our home? Seems more and more like _you_ were the home. You were _my_ home. And I want to find a way back to you. Mom, you were my biggest inspiration, the one I wanted to be like. Remember how people used to say I was your clone? How you used to call me Frankenstein?” Lydia couldn’t help the small smile, wistful and melancholy and pained as tears welled in her eyes.

“I’ve tried to let Daddy grieve in his own way. But I’ve ignored it for too long. He’s lost his mind Mom, but I can’t forget you. We’ve… we’re a mess now. Something’s been broken now that you’re gone, and I don’t know if I can fix it,” Lydia sniffed, “I don’t know if I even _want_ to. You were the one who made everything better. Without you here everything’s different, and me; it’s like trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. It doesn’t work, nothing does. No one has your sense of humor, no one gets it. No one gets _me_. Please Mom, I need to know you’re here, I need to know you’re listening.” there was silence around her, so much silence. Lydia was used to silence though, it wasn’t about what she heard, but what she felt. And maybe it was all just wishful thinking, but she could have sworn she felt her mother’s presence,

“Mom, please send me a sign. I need something, anything to believe in right now. If not… what’s the point? Why don’t I just lock myself in my room until I can move out and leave this place? Just something, _anything_ Mom. I don’t care what it is, send a plague of rats, make the house shake, a lightning strike, anything!” she laughed bitterly, “I’d even take a nuclear bomb dropping. It’s been about fifty years right? We’re probably long overdue for that.”

Lydia hugged herself tightly, resolving that even if Mom couldn’t help her she would learn to help herself. She couldn’t do this anymore, she refused to, “No,” she swore, “No more. No more playing this stupid game of Dad’s. I can’t do it anymore. I _won’t_. I swear I’ll lose whatever’s left of my mind if I have to. Don’t you worry Mom,” Lydia promised the heavens above, “I promise I’ll fix everything, no matter _what_. Whatever it takes to make him say your name, Dead Mom!”

There was a renewed sense of strength and purpose in Lydia as she stood her ground and declared her mission. She stuck out her chin in a stubborn manner. Now, all she had to do was find a way to make it happen. And therein lay the difficult part. Lydia sighed, well… maybe she could find a way to manufacture some damage that would cause her father to rethink how much money he wanted to sink into this thing. Or at the very least, she would go find a room Delia hadn’t touched yet to claim for her own. If she had to stay in this hellhole, she would at least do it on her own terms with a touch of familiar territory.

BJ BJ BJ

“So I said, ‘Let’s do this!’ and then she was like, ‘But I don’t have any baby oil,’ but then I was like, ‘But I have some guacamole right here!’ And _that_ is the story of the time I fucked Katherine Hepburn,” Beetlejuice finished, holding for applause. The Maitlands were sitting on some old boxes in the attic where he’d put them, looking slightly more confused and disgusted than impressed. Oh well, they’d learn how incredible he was soon enough, “Which reminds me,” Beetlejuice added, “I hope you guys stashed away a few bottles of lube before you died,”

“What?” they tilted their heads. Might as well call them a couple of fucking owls, “Why?”

“Well in the event that you two wanna get…” Beetlejuice paused for a moment, “Well I would say ‘freaky’ in any other circumstance but I’ve seen what you two do behind closed doors and that is _not_ how I would describe it,”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Adam interrupted, “You’ve been spying on us?” he sounded outraged while Barbara looked embarrassed.

“Yeah, hi Adam,” Beetlejuice retorted, “I’m the one who introduces people to the whole being dead thing. What do you think I do in the meantime besides wait for people to die? Vacation in fucking Palm Springs?”

“Even so-”

“Adam, I always have to be prepared for when people die. I know whether or not they’re going to die soon, but not the exact predetermined hour and minute of when they bite the big one. Would you rather I have come back at a later time?”

“Well-” Adam raised a finger to try and refute the argument, “I… no, I guess not.”

“That’s what I thought,” Beetlejuice nodded, “Now, what was I saying? Oh, right, yeah you might wanna refrain from banging the headboard against the wall unless you have something to make that job a bit easier.”

“Why would we need to?” Barbara asked, unable to contain her curiosity even through her embarrassment.

“You’re dead,” Beetlejuice reminded her, “That means no blood, sweat, tears, or other bodily fluids. You might think you won’t notice the difference but trust me, you will. So, I hope you stocked up or it’s going to be a very dry, boring, and sexless eternity. Hope you like yahtzee,”

The Maitlands looked at each other and then Barbara raised her hand, “Um… I’m sorry but… why are we in the attic?”

“Oh right,” Beetlejuice remembered, “I’m gonna teach you two how to be ghosts.”

At the idea of learning something the Maitlands brightened up considerably, exclaiming it was just like one of their classes. And despite the fact that he’d neither asked nor cared, Barbara explained how when they weren’t stiffs they used to take a bunch of adult recreational bullshit including ballroom dancing and glassblowing. The latter of which apparently contained a Wiccan, which in their minds meant this was the same thing.

“Yeah, hey, question?” Beetlejuice folded his arms at them, “When did I say I give a shit about any of that? Or makes you think this is anything like that, because it’s not,”

“Oh well…” the Maitlands were now suddenly dejected, “I mean that’s too bad, we had fun at the glassblowing class.”

“Hey, focus here,” Beetlejuice snapped his fingers, “Don’t you want to get these people out of your house?”

“Oh most definitely,” Adam said, looking revolted at the thought of sharing a house with people other than his wife.

“Welp, then I’m gonna need you two to get it together, because in order to do that you need to learn how to be scary. Which I'm starting to think may or may not be such a good idea."

“Well can’t you just scare the people for us?” Barbara asked, “I mean, you give me the creeps.”

“You said that already Babs," Beetlejuice reminded her, "And as I told you, you give me a boner but that’s not going to cut it here!” Beetlejuice snapped at her. Noticing their flinch he held his hands up placatingly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Look, I’m just as frustrated with the situation as you two are. Believe me when I say I’d love to. There is nothing that would give me greater pleasure than to kill those people downstairs for you but-”

“Wait _kill_?” Adam reiterated, “We do not want to kill anyone, here, we just want them out of our house!”

“Kill, scare, it all becomes synonymous in this line of work Adam. Jesus Christ cut me some slack here.”

“Wait what?” the couple asked. God, could they figure _nothing_ out for themselves?

“Fun fact you two; scare someone bad enough and you can in fact kill them,” Beetlejuice was swiftly becoming less and less impressed with the puppets he’d chosen. And he hadn’t been that impressed to begin with, “But, I get it, I get it. If they die in this house that means you have to share it with them, which is exactly what we’re trying to avoid here. So, we’ll dial it back a bit, keep it simple,” he looked them up and down again and added, “Especially because I’m starting to get the feeling simple is all you’ll be able to handle. Anyways,” he moved on, “As much as I would love to get rid of these people _for_ you, there’s a teensy weensy problem with that.”

“Well what is it?”

“I am not a ghost,” Beetlejuice informed them, “I’m a demon,” it wasn’t technically a lie, he was at least half-demon which was enough to count, right? “And demons cannot do anything unless summoned. Which means that right now, no matter what I do, I cannot affect the world of the living. However,” he added, “You two, as ghosts, can. It’s gonna be a little difficult considering how self-absorbed breathers are. But you have power, and I’m gonna teach you how to use it. So,” he held out a hand, “Whaddya say?”

Maybe he should become a motivational speaker if he was able to con these two into enthusiasm. He instructed them to think of the scariest thing they could imagine and bit back a swear at their responses.

“I get the feeling this is going to be a lot more difficult than I anticipated,” he muttered to himself. But, in for a penny, in for a pound. And he certainly didn’t have any better options at the moment. Time to get even more motivational. He was certain they had some darkness in their souls, every human did. It was just a matter of bringing that darkness out. Very quickly though it became apparent that if the Maitlands had any darkness in them, it was buried so far deep down as to be basically nonexistent. Wonderful.

“Well,” he tried to stay positive, “You’ve got… potential. And once you’ve got them where you want them, when they’re quaking in terror, you make them say this,” he pulled out a card from his pocket and handed it to them.

“Dolly Levi, Matchmaker,” Adam intoned ominously. Crap, wrong card, when he handed them the right one they didn’t seem to get it. But Barbara, once again proving she was really the brains of this subpar operation, connected the dots,

“This, it’s your name isn’t it?” Barbara asked him. Adam looked at her,

“Did we know that? I feel like this is something we should have already known, how did we not find this out until now?”

“Narrative plot convenience, don’t worry about it,” Beetlejuice waved them off, “And as for it being my name, eh?" he shrugged, "I’ve gone by a lot of names over the years, this is just the one I like best.”

“So what does it do if they say it?”

“Lets me out, and then we can have some real fun with those losers,” Beetlejuice grinned maniacally.

“But… we just said it, we said it a bunch of times,” Adam pointed out, now wondering if taking the ghoul up on his offer was such a good idea after all.

“Yeah, well, does me a whole lot of good when you’re already dead now doesn’t it?” Beetlejuice shot back, “Don’t make for much of a curse when any old Tom, Dick, or Harry who’s already history can say it and let me out. If ghosts could summon demons and have it work the world would be a very different place I can assure you. However, it doesn’t, and if I want out the person saying my name HAS TO BE ALIVE, GOT IT!” the Maitlands flinched again and he backpedaled so as to not put them off, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just… it’s a touchy subject alright? Moving on, let’s think of things that you hate…”

Hatred was supposed to spark the natural violent and frightening instincts. But the things that made the Maitlands angry was… lackluster to say the least. And so were their ideas. Turning off lights, hiding phones, crossdressing. In this day and age? None of that shit would work. Maybe if they had died in the era they apparently had lived in, which was the fifties, that might have worked. It really might have. But as it was, what they needed to do to get these people out of their house was clearly far beyond their means as ghosts. They were holding themselves back and if he couldn’t dislodge that stick of mundane yuppie-hood from their asses nothing would. They might as well get used to the attic, because they were going to be seeing a lot of it from here on out. He might as well just draw them a door and send them on now, but he wanted to hold on to that tiny bit of hope that they could surprise him, that he could be freed. Seriously though, would it have been too much to ask for someone who knew what the hell they were doing? Even a tax attorney would have been better than this. Lawyers were scary, hell, white rabbits could be scarier than these two. At the very least, they seemed excited by prospect of ventriloquism. And there were a couple other tricks he could show them.

But the more the Maitlands reveled in their innocuous and insipid juvenile pranks, because to be honest that’s what they were going to turn out to be, Beetlejuice sighed. This was hopeless. So he dusted off his jacket, smoothed out his lapels, and gave them a salute,

“Welp, later losers,” and he headed out the door. But surprisingly, the Maitlands were confused by this development.

“Wait where are you going?” Barbara asked, “You said you would help us!”

“I wanted to help you,” Beetlejuice nodded, “Call me Mother Teresa because all I wanted to do was help you two. But here’s the problem Babs, you can’t help the helpless. And that’s what you two are.”

“Helpless, you’re joking,” Adam scoffed. Oh. My. _God_.

“Alright, you two need a fucking visual; here we go,” he held up his hands, “See this? Here’s help, and this,” he put one lower in the air, “Here’s you guys. See?” he brought the top hand down to the lower one, “It’s less. Get it?”

“Well, what do you want from us then?” Adam asked him, looking as though he should get an A for effort. Welp, tough luck Adam because death wasn’t a meritocracy where everyone got a medal just for fucking participating. Though if he were being honest he could barely call what he'd seen _participating_.

“Effort perhaps,” Beetlejuice deadpanned, folding his arms and raising a brow, “Creativity, something to work with at _all_ , stop me when you hear something you think you can argue.

“I mean what do you expect we’re not… like _you_ ,” Barbara jumped to her husband’s defense.

And oh boy if they hadn’t struck a nerve before they certainly had now. Not like you. Not like us. Different, strange, unusual, invisible. Beetlejuice felt his eye twitch as unbidden memories came back in a fraction of a microsecond. But unlike the schoolyard, he had a slightly better handle on his demonic rage now. So he wasn’t going to rip them apart, yet. The final consensus on that one was still up in the air. But right now he was willing to give them one more chance. If nothing else they could provoke some curiosity. And curiosity was a dangerous thing in the wrong hands. So he settled for verbal assault instead.

“I know that Barbara,” he said, tone colder and more malevolent than he was certain he’d expressed around them thus far, “You think I don’t fucking know that? _No one_ is like me. And that’s the problem with the world.” he took a deep, albeit unneeded breath, “I’m done. Call me when you’re at your wit’s end and we’ll see if I can do anything. I doubt it, you two are pretty fuckin’ hopeless, but even demons can work a miracle or two. See ya in hell,” and then he walked out the door, pausing only to flip them off with a, “Fuck you guys,” as he slammed the door behind him.

Adam and Barbara were left staring at the spot he’d vacated, frustrated and confused. Adam in particular was seething.

“That guy…” he took a few breaths, “That guy… needs some serious therapy. I hope there’s a dead therapist who can give him the help he needs.”

“I doubt even Freud could figure that guy out,” Barbara shook her head, “I didn’t think demons could be so sensitive. So now what Adam?” she asked her spouse, “What are we supposed to do? I mean, we can’t just stay in the attic for the next century.”

“Barbara I don’t think we have a choice,” Adam told her, “They can’t see us, and he said we aren’t scary and I… I think if only there, he may have a point. Barbara, we don’t scare people, we get scared by others,”

Barbara had to admit that thus far it had been true. There was a reason they fobbed off meetings with friends during Halloween. They didn’t like scaring and they didn’t like being scared. Which made them the perfect targets for pranks. It had been that way in school, it had been that way in life, but Barbara refused to let it be that way in death. She rifled through some of the trunks and boxes, it had to be here somewhere.

“Barbara, what are you doing?” Adam asked her as she pulled out some old sheets and began cutting holes in them.

“I’m getting my house back dammit,” Barbara seethed, “He was right, in order to get our house back, we have to fight for it, and in order to fight, we need to get angry.”

“But no one can see us,” Adam pointed out.

“We’re ghosts dammit! Let’s, let’s… _haunt this bitch_!” Barbara declared, “Besides,” she added holding up the sheets, “That’s what these are for.”

“You know what?” Adam replied, “You’re right Barbara. Alright, I’m in, let’s do this. Ready?”

“Set,”

“Let’s go!” they declared, tossing the bed sheets over their heads and heading out. One way or another, they were determined to make a change. Too bad they didn’t realize how big a change they’d be making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you next time Netherlings!


	4. A Reason for Meeting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, so this is a bit of a long one. Mostly because I'm trying to keep the musical storyline somewhat condensed so we have room for that 'after' portion of the story I mentioned in the summary. That being said, enjoy!

Delia Schlimmer was nothing if not a passionate person. Whenever something took her interest, she threw herself into it whole heartedly. She’d done that with school, she’d done that with work, she’d done it with love. And where had it gotten her? Here she was, almost forty years old working as a life coach to a depressed teenage girl. Things had definitely been worse, but they’d also been better. She felt as though she might be able to make more progress with Lydia if she was just allowed to talk honestly with her. But Charles was the one who signed her paychecks, so she’d do what he asked. Delia didn’t think it was right, but even she knew deep down that she was an outsider in this family. She could only intervene and interfere as much as they allowed her to. And Charles had very firmly said there was a line she couldn’t cross.

One day Lydia would learn though. And hopefully by then Delia would have had the chance to instill some methods in order to tackle anything life there at her. Everything happened for a reason, and maybe the reason Delia had been through so much herself was so she could help Lydia work through what was happening now. Delia could see that. That made sense. Fifteen years of heartbreak and rejection, first from her husband who had treated her as a beard, then from every subsequent spiritual movement she'd attempted. But then she'd found Otho. Otho had opened her third eye when other practices had kept it firmly shut. He’d encouraged her, praised her for her dedication to him, made her feel like she finally belonged somewhere. He encouraged her to spread his wisdom by becoming a life coach, motivating the unmotivated. But this was her first real job, and between that and the complicated relationship with her employer Delia was terrified she was going to screw everything up.

At least she had her old trophy wife hobby of interior decorating to fall back on. Maybe she should have gone for that studio art degree when she had the chance. Oh well, maybe someday. The room was coming together nicely, plenty of good energy flowing through from the colors and decals on the wall. And, she’d had time to pop down to the local boutiques and picked out a couple of cute dresses for herself and Lydia for the business dinner. All part of the budget Charles had given her. All she had to do was try and find some time to corner the girl and get her to talk. Oh well, plenty of time later, right now she needed to finish cleansing the room with her incense stick.

“Hey Delia,” speak of the little devil. Delia turned around only to be met with a blinding flash of light, causing her to wince and shut her eyes, raising an arm to block out the brightness.

Lydia pursed her lips and regarded her camera. There was no preview, it was an old camera that needed to be developed the old fashioned way. But she was rolling the film into place for another attempt, “That was probably a good one,” she remarked callously, “Think I was really able to capture your essence at any rate.”

Sometimes, Delia wanted to strangle something because of how frustrated this child made her. At seventeen years old Delia had been… getting into way worse trouble than this, but at least she hadn’t been annoying the people she lived with.

“Lydia,” Delia sighed, “How many times have I told you, you can’t just sneak up on someone and take their essance!”

Lydia narrowed her eyes in confusion, “None?” she drawled, “Wait, let me check," she counted off on her fingers, "Yeah no, I was right. You’ve never said that to me.”

“Well maybe it’s because it’s something that shouldn’t have to be said!” deep breath in Delia. No negativity in a freshly cleansed space. Lydia brought enough darkness with her already, no need to add to it, “Besides,” she added, “I don’t model anymore. Not unless I’m paid upfront, in cash,” making a sound with her lips as she remembered the instance which prompted that statement she waved a finger at Lydia, “learned _that_ one the hard way; but hopefully your models will know better.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Lydia sounded almost apologetic, “It’s just… I want something to remember you by, once you’re gone.”

“Gone?” Delia couldn’t help but laugh at the notion, “I’m not going anywhere, not for a long time.”

“So you say,” Lydia folded her arms at the other woman, “But everyone goes, eventually. Even… the people who used to own this place.”

Delia blanched, “I’m… sorry?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Lydia pressed, leaning closer, “Didn’t dad tell you? The people who used to live here didn’t move, they _died_.”

“Died?”

“Yep, in these very walls,” Lydia continued, “Such a happy couple, I was told, had everything going for them. And then one day, poof, fell to their deaths, right through the floor in the living room. They weren’t discovered until three days later, broken, bloody, and rotting.” she pulled back with an almost sinister smile, and added, “But besides, I know you’re going to leave. See, I had a vision,”

“A vision?” Delia’s tone was somewhere between horror and delight. Horror because of the story Lydia had just imparted to her, and delight because a vision meant Lydia was at least starting to take her teachings seriously, “Well that’s… great!” she tried for false enthusiasm that was way too cheerful to fool anyone, “You know, I had a vision once. I was in this sweat lodge… well okay it wasn’t actually a sweat lodge it was just this really hot apartment back in Queens, and I was locked in and-”

“Yeah, not the same vision,” Lydia cut her off, “See, in my vision everything goes back to the way it was; my dad and I are back in New York, and you? Well,” Lydia folded her arms and turned her back on Delia, “as far as we’re concerned you don’t exist anymore.”

Delia felt her heart sink. No, no no no. Not that. But she tried to play it off, “Lydia sweetie that’s not a vision, that’s a nightmare,” one she’d had too many times to count. But maybe forceful positivity and pretending Lydia didn’t know exactly why she was here wasn’t the way to go with this. Delia sighed, “Look Lydia, let’s be honest here. You and I both know I’m paid to care about you, why pretend that isn’t the case? But just because it is, doesn’t mean it has to be fake. I’d really like it if the two of us could be real…” she hesitantly patted the teenager on the shoulder, “Friends. I’m not here to replace your-” remembering Charles’ dictate she cut herself off, “Well, you know. But you can always treat me like another maternal figure, if you need.”

There was a moment of silence where Lydia just stared at her. Delia quickly backtracked, “Yeah, you’re right, not at that stage just yet,” she laughed nervously, “Oh, I have an idea! There’s still a bunch of old junk in the attic, and since I’m sure you don’t want to work where people died, why don’t we clean it all out and turn it into a darkroom for you?”

Lydia sighed, “You really don’t get it do you?” she asked, leaning in closer with a stubborn set to her jaw, “I don’t need a darkroom. I already have one. My whole life is a dark room. One. Big. Dark. Room.”

Delia didn’t know what to say to that, except for the immediate, “Well that’s depressing,” which she had only meant to think. Trying to salvage the situation she quickly added wise words from her guru, about depression only being allowed around the holidays and needing to be put elsewhere for the rest of the year.

Lydia looked at her, “Or, depression could be like an ugly sweater in the sense that some people find it comforting and it’s only other people who should be minding their own business instead of criticizing your wardrobe are bothered by.”

“Speaking of clothes!” Delia quickly changed the subject, “I was hoping to find you later today, I picked up some dresses for the business dinner tomorrow night!” she hurried over to the wardrobe and selected her favorite from the bunch, a frilly yellow number that reminded her of all those sitcoms of happy and normal families she’d grown up on. She squealed in delight even as Lydia asked,

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a dress,” Delia reiterated, “The perfect one. It says, ‘I’m here, I’m friendly, and I think about death only a normal amount’! Isn’t it fabulous?” she asked giddily.

“Yeah… fabulous,” Lydia drawled, “Except for just one thing; I prefer _black_.”

“I know,” Delia shook her head, still admiring her own taste in clothes, “But black reminds me of a funeral, and this isn’t a funeral it’s a business dinner!”

“Why couldn’t it be both?” Lydia offered, miming holding a wine glass, “A toast to my father, and his most wonderful business. Oh, and by the way one of your wineglasses has been poisoned!”

It was quite possible Delia had done just a bit too much roleplay in her life. Because without even thinking about it she ran over and snatched the pantomime glass shouting, “Lydia you give me that right now!” then she realized what she was doing and her gaze shifted from Lydia’s expression of disbelief to the nonexistent object back and forth a few times. And then, “S-smash,” Delia threw it away and turned back to Lydia, holding her hands out with the unspoken, “really?” hanging in the air.

“Oh Lydia,” Delia sighed, “What are we going to do with you?”

“With any luck? Nothing,” Lydia retorted as she folded her arms, “I know this may be hard for you and Dad to understand, but I _like_ being like this Delia. I _like_ being miserable, and I neither need nor want you and your stick of false joy hiding untold insecurities poking at me. Just leave me alone,”

Delia felt her hands ball into fists and begin shaking. Why did this girl have to be so damn difficult! If she cared less about Charles she would have been content to simply take the paycheck with no real effort except when needed to convince her employer. But Delia _did_ care, and she did want to help. If only she could get to the root of the problem! But no, Charles had told her that sort of talk was strictly off limits.

The redhead sighed, “Lydia, right now you are redirecting anger, and deflecting pain, and other terms I learned in my psychiatric training before I found Otho,” she pulled Lydia closer, “But you don’t need a shrink, what you need, is a new perspective!”

And so began yet another argument. One where Delia tried to encourage the power of positive thinking, where life was only as bad as one imagined it to be. And so long as one only imagined good in the world, so it would be. But Lydia, oh boy little Lydia. Delia fully understood why he didn’t want Lydia talking to a shrink. Nobody had the mental fortitude to withstand Lydia. Because somehow, someway, Lydia turned a message of positivity into her dour world of darkness and despair. And in doing so, dredge up every insecurity and secret one kept locked behind fortified mental walls. Somehow, a conversation meant to bring light, and life, and the power of crystals was turned into a dirge about death and loneliness and crippling existential anxiety about how we were all going to die eventually and each death would be meaningless with no one around to mourn us. How the universe didn’t care about its peons so insignificant that humans were probably on a microscopical level of irrelevance. Delia couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked about how her marriage had ended when her husband had finally gotten the courage to live his best life. And how that meant sailing away to Rome with his boyfriend with nothing but a note filled with meaningless apologies and signed divorce papers and a severance that was barely comfortable by the New York standard of living and worst of all, no children to get her through it all. Of how she spent the subsequent nights crying herself to restless sleep and woke feeling deader inside than each day previous, how she’d bought a cat because at her age, that was her only chance of having a family like she’d never knew she’d dreamed of having. And how that cat had very quickly found itself returned when Delia’s fragile mental and emotional state couldn’t handle caring for another living being. Of how she had to believe that everything happened for a reason, that there was purpose to all the misery she’d found herself going through in the last year or so. And if there wasn’t, then what was the point?

No! Everything _did_ happen for a reason. Delia believed that. She _had_ to believe that and she wouldn’t accept any statements to the contrary. She was still fun, she was still young, even if she had taken some of her eggs and had them frozen as a last ditch insurance policy, and may or may not have been considering applying for a donor before Charles had come along. And then there was Lydia saying that terrible things happened not for a reason, but because the universe was simply random. Fortune favored fools, but apparently Delia just wasn’t foolish enough yet. But ready to leave and more than willing to do anything to end the argument she decided to compromise,

“Maybe you’re right Lydia,” Delia acknowledged, “But if the universe is random, it’s random for a reason.”

Lydia looked at her skeptically, “Right…” she drawled, “Are we done here?”

“Yep!” Delia cheerfully acknowledged, “And I have a lot more rooms I need to bless before the night’s over. Have fun, bye!” and she walked off.

Lydia watched Delia go and sighed. She wondered what on earth kept the woman in her father’s employ because she was obviously terrible at doing her job. Fiddling with her camera her thoughts once again turned to Dead Mom. The device itself had been a gift from her parents, a sweet sixteen present, and an upgrade from the last model she’d had since she’d stolen it from her Grandmother when she was five. Lydia never expected it to be the last time she’d ever get a gift from her mother. Everything, it felt like it had happened so quickly after that, the days where her Mom felt a thousand miles away even in the same room. The times where she was so in her own head it was hard to bring her out. The days where Mom just hadn’t been Mom. Sickness truly was the worst, and if Lydia wasn’t mistaken, it was starting to affect her too. But this wasn’t like what had happened to Mom. This was a sickness of the heart, of the mind, the ceaseless yearning for something she could never again have. Was it really too much to ask for a sign? Something, anything, to let Lydia know her mother had heard her, was still looking out for her?

At that moment something distracted her from her thoughts. A sound, or sounds, rather. The sound of tortured pain. A ghostly wail. A demand, a mantra, an ultimatum, and a demand,

_“Leave this house!”_

Lydia turned and saw… wow. Okay. of all the horror movie cliches she might have expected to see, the sheets with eye holes cut into them one was pretty low on the list. And clearly, those things didn’t have the best field of vision because they didn’t even seem to notice her as she ducked slightly out of the way. But the demands for evacuation from the house were soon turned to groans of dismay as they took in what Delia had done to the room.

“What the hell did they do to our house?” the taller ghost, one that sounded like a man, asked.

“I don’t believe this,” the smaller figure, probably a woman, replied, “You can’t make every wall an accent wall!”

Without even thinking about it, Lydia reached for her pocket Polaroid -the wonders of modern technology, keeping antiquated formats alive, expensive, yet convenient- and snapped a photo of them. Picking up the tiny photo she waved it off, thankful for quick developing imagery. Some part of her was wondering if this was all some sort of joke, even if there was no logic behind it. But the image proved it,

“No feet,” Lydia breathed, turning her gaze to the pair of apparitions shrouded in bed sheets, “Are you two… really ghosts?”

The ghosts looked at each other, then at her, and nodded. Stowing the pocket camera and reaching for her better one, Lydia shook her head, “This house is haunted, I can’t believe it!” and the flash resounded yet again. But this seemed to spook them. Wasn’t that ironic? The living girl spooking the spooks? But it hadn’t exactly been her intention, even as they screamed at each other to run. This was it, this was her sign. It had to be, this had her mother’s handiwork written all over it, right down to the cheesy ghost costumes. She couldn’t let this slip through her fingers, and so, Lydia went after them.

BJ BJ BJ

Barbara didn't know how to feel as she and Adam returned to the attic. Adam was grumbling about the sheets tripping them up as they'd tried to escape the girl. A girl. This family had a girl. She didn't know what to make of that. She'd thought it was just the greedy business man and the deeply unhappy woman. But a daughter. They had a _daughter_.

“Adam I think we may need to reconsider our plan of action,” Barbara said to him as she began nibbling on her thumb beneath the sheet, a hold over from when she had nails that could grow.

“What? Why?”

“I can't… they have a daughter Adam. I didn't know they had a daughter. And she's just the age that…” Barbara paused.

“The age we wanted to foster,” Adam finished somberly, “Barbara I know it hurts. All those things we never got to do. But even if they have a daughter, do you really want to be spending the next century and a half with them? With us stuck up here in the attic because what's the point of wandering around the house when no one can see us!”

"But she could see us,"

"Because of the sheets!" Adam reminded his wife, angrily shaking his arms and causing the fabric to rustle to prove his point.

“Adam,” Barbara broke in gently, “How can we drive a family out of their home? We’d be no better than Jane,”

“Ugh, why would you say that?” Adam lamented, but before Barbara could answer the door to the attic opened. Strange, the Maitlands could have sworn they’d locked it. In stepped the little girl, tiny and petite and so fragile. She reminded Barbara of a porcelain doll she’d used to own as a child.

Lydia’s heart was pounding in her chest as she followed the ghosts up to the attic. Dead Mom had sent her a sign and Lydia was bound and determined to figure out what it all meant. She opened the door to see the ghosts still wrapped in their sheets, and held out a cautious hand to them, leaning back so as to make herself appear as nonthreatening as possible. Man, all those gory animal documentaries came in handy after all.

“Greetings ghosts,” she began, “My name is Lydia Deetz. I have come in peace, do not be afraid.”

“Wait, why aren’t you afraid of us?” Barbara asked before she could help it.

“Might be because you’re not scary?” Lydia quipped, tone conveying the "no, duh" she was too polite to say out loud.

"Ugh, was that needy pervert right?" they lamented, "Are we seriously not scary?"

"I mean..." Lydia tried to give them a bit of encouragement. Insecure ghosts was a new thing, "I was startled? I definitely wasn't _expecting_ ghosts in the house,"

"Well I guess that's a start," the female sighed. Lydia stepped off the platform, coming closer and closer. She'd never been this close to ghosts before. Or maybe they were squatters, there was really only one way to find out. She reached for the eye holes on one of them, attempting to pull it down so she could get a look inside, asking,

"What do you look like under there?"

But the ghosts reared back, stepping away from her as they shook off her hand, "Seriously?" they asked her, "I know we're not particularly scary but isn't the prospect of a ghost in a death shroud terrifying?"

“Okay first of all; those aren't death shrouds, they're sheets." Lydia countered, "I’m not afraid of sheets. Unless…” she paused as the thought came to her, “Wait, are you gross under there? Like… like _Night of the Living Dead_ under there? All bloody veins and pus? Is that why you wear the sheets? Can I see?”

“Night of the living what?” Adam asked, trying to maintain a safe distance from her in case she tried that again.

“Living dead,” Lydia finished, seeming a bit put out that they didn't know it, “It’s a classic horror movie?”

Barbara sighed as she and Adam took off the sheets, “You know, if I’d seen a ghost at your age I’d have been scared out of my wits."

Lydia pouted, obviously disappointed, "You're not gross," she remarked.

"Nope, we’re just a normal couple.”

Lydia looked them up and down, “Well, you definitely weren’t kidding about that,” she agreed, “You're very normal. Lemme guess, you used to shop all organic at Whole Foods right?”

Adam and Barbara turned to each other and then nodded at her. Lydia let out a mirthless breath of laughter, “That’s what I thought. Only people like that would be wearing flannel and… I’m not exactly what to call the pattern on that house dress you’re wearing,” she inclined her head at Barbara, “S’pose it suits you though,”

“Oh well,” Barbara pulled at the folds of her dress, “Thank you. I’m Barbara, and this is Adam. We li-” she cleared her throat, “I mean, we _used_ to live here.”

“Wait a minute…” Adam spoke, realization dawning on his face, “You, you can see us.”

“Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?” Lydia asked in response.

“No I mean, you can see us without the sheets, that’s…”

“I’m confused,” Lydia told them, “Why shouldn’t I be able to see you?”

“Well it’s just,” Adam struggled for words, “We were told that live people can’t usually see the dead, that they tend to ignore the strange and unusual.”

Lydia gave another mirthless laugh, “That sounds about right. Live people ignore the strange and unusual, and everything else that doesn't fit into their idealistic view of the world."

Was she a bit bitter as she said that? Perhaps but she did feel a bit of bitterness was earned at this point.

"But not you?"

"No," Lydia gave a mirthless smile, "I myself _am_ strange and unusual.”

“Well,” Barbara interjected gently, “You seem like a normal girl to me,”

Lydia rolled her eyes bemusedly, “Take a look at me, then take a look at yourself, see if your assessment remains the same.”

“So Lydia,” Adam began rubbing his hands together. This may be a bit easier than he thought, “Since you _can_ see us… apologies if I’m too forward but I’ll get straight to the point; do you think you’d mind leaving and never coming back?”

“Adam,” Barbara slapped his chest with the back of her hand, “Don’t be rude, you can’t just ask someone to leave and never come back on the first meeting!”

“Well I didn’t mean _her_ specifically,” Adam protested, “I just meant her family-”

“Okay, two things,” Lydia raised her fingers, “One; you clearly don’t know the Deetzes very well if you think asking nicely or silly sheets would get us out of here. My father never walks away from equity, especially not when he’s already sunk a bunch into a place like he has with this one. Two; we are not a,” she just barely resisted gagging, “ _Family_. Not in the way you’re thinking anyways. We are a father, a daughter, and a life coach named Delia. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Adam and Barbara shared another look, “Not to pry or anything but… your mother, is she-?”

Lydia gave them a pained smile as she cast her gaze up to the rafters and closed them again, “She ah,” she took a deep breath, “She died.”

“Oh no,” the Maitlands cooed sympathetically, “Lydia we’re so sorry,”

“Yeah,” Lydia replied, “Me too. But, it’s not like you could have done anything. By the time you died she-” she paused, “Six months ago,” Lydia added, feeling somehow that that information was incredibly important. She let out a hitched laugh, “Six months ago she died.”

“Oh Lydia,” Barbara stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder, “I know it must be hard for you,”

“Sometimes more than others,” Lydia admitted, “Like right now, for instance. She… she would have loved this. I mean, real ghosts, an actual haunted house!” the teenager shook her head, “It’s exactly the sort of thing she lived for. She loved anything out of the ordinary,”

“Oh really?” they prodded her, encouraging her to open up without saying anything.

“Yeah,” Lydia sat down on a discarded trunk as she reminisced, “Well, Mom wasn't too ordinary herself, so it make sense. She loved pranks, loved scaring the crap out of people in particular. Come to think of it we probably would have moved anyways, between the stress of his job and Mom’s antics Dad was likely already a couple weeks away from a heart attack. She loved to pretend she was being chased by a psychotic killer, or buy those expensive magic knives and pretend to slit her throat when she and Dad would get into fights. Oh, and stories. She loved stories, she used to read me all kinds of folklore and fairy tales,”

“Fairy tales,” Barbara latched on, “Well that sounds relatively normal,”

“If you think reading a three year old the original Brothers Grimm versions of said fairy tales instead of the saturated, sanitized Disney versions is normal, then sure,” Lydia shrugged, “Nothing like hearing about how Cinderella’s stepsisters cut off parts of their feet to try and fit into the slipper, or that Cinderella’s cute little birdie friends then plucked out their eyes as they walked Cindy down the aisle.” another memory came to mind, “her favorites were the animal bride ones,”

“Animal bride?” The Maitlands looked at one another, unsure of if they should know what the teenager was talking about or not.

“Yeah, you know… like selkies?” Lydia asked, “The stories where some dumb hunter would find a beautiful woman shedding her animal skin, selkies being seal women, and steal the coat to keep her with him as his wife? They usually then have a kid who helps her reclaim her true form and then she leaves never to be seen again? Never understood why she liked them so much,” Lydia murmured to herself, “They’re not exactly horror films, artistic or otherwise… oh, except that one where the seal woman comes back as a troll and curses the guy because he killed her seal husband and seal kids. That one was my favorite version,” she let out a small laugh, a genuine one with a kernel of mirth. And then, she sobered suddenly, “Sorry,” she immediately clammed up, “I didn’t mean to bore you guys talking about my dead Mom,”

“Oh no, no, no Lydia,” Barbara and Adam rushed to her side, “It’s fine. It’s nice to know you had someone like that. We don’t mind if you want to talk about her,”

Lydia raised a brow at them, suddenly skeptical, “Really? You don’t mind me talking about my dead Mom with you?”

“It’s not like this is the millionth time we’ve heard these stories,” Adam offered, “So why wouldn’t we?”

“I mean it’s just…” Lydia began, “No one’s wanted to talk with me about her since she died. It’s like it’s against the law in my house or something,”

“Well,” Adam shrugged, “It was our house first and,” he made a show of looking around, “I don’t see any cops around here, do you?”

There was a beat of silence as the joke made its landing. And then Barbara snorted, slapping her husband on the arm, “Adam that was terrible,”

Lydia laughed again, “That was great,” she told him, “You got the delivery right and everything. Probably the best dad joke I’ve ever heard.”

“Really?” Adam’s face lit up, “Well I’m warning you, I’ve got a million of those bad boys all saved up and since I never got the chance to use them when I was alive-” he cut himself off as he looked back at Barbara, the memory of everything they had just so recently lost threatening to crush them both. Barbara took his hand, and he felt a bit more reassured, “I… never got to use them,” he finished lamely the conversation dying with the awkwardness that suddenly filled the room.

“Not to pry or anything but,” Lydia echoed their earlier words, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not much to say,” Barbara shrugged, “We… we came close to being parents once. We…” she took a shuddering breath in and continued, wondering if it might be cathartic to finally talk about it with someone who was so removed from the situation she wouldn’t pass judgement on them, “We were fortunate enough to find out we were going to have a baby, about a year and a half ago. And we were so excited!”

“I was getting a whole nursery ready,” Adam added proudly, “Every day after work, I’d go in and work on that room. Just picture the perfect nursery; bright colors, pretty wall paper, I even managed to start restoring my old crib from when I was a baby,”

“It was a bit of a family heirloom,” Barbara clarified, “And we wanted to keep up the tradition. But, there was… an accident,” a tidal wave of pain rendered the woman unable to speak.

“I came home from work one day to find Barbara passed out on the floor,” Adam told her, “With… there was… blood... so much blood. I rushed her to the hospital-”

“And when I woke up, the doctor told us I’d had a miscarriage,” Barbara finished, eyes glassy with piercing pain, unshed tears, and distance in her mind, “He said I was lucky to be alive with how bad things had seemed.”

“And then what?” Lydia asked softly, as though they were the porcelain dolls, as if this had just happened to them not even a week ago.

“He said, we should wait, if we wanted to try again,” Adam told her as he cradled Barbara in her embrace, “But by that time… you know you lose someone you care about and… it makes you afraid to open your heart again. We couldn’t… we didn’t want to risk feeling that way again so we kept putting it off. And then, one day we realized, we didn’t need to have a baby to be parents, we decided we’d become foster parents, put all the room in this place to good use.”

“That was the day you died, wasn’t it?” Lydia asked, putting the dots together far quicker than they might have expected, “You died before you could even do that, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Adam nodded, holding Barbara tighter, “So you see Lydia, that’s why we want our house back… to ourselves really. It’s all we have left in this world, especially after your father and his cleaners came through.”

“I get that,” Lydia told them, “I understand why you would,” she looked around, “It’s a nice house, probably full of nice memories too. Including this one,” she added, “This is the first nice moment I’ve had in this house since I got here,”

“Well,” Barbara offered, “Sharing of painful backstories aside, this is the first nice moment we’ve had since… well, we died.”

Lydia tilted her head at them, “Really?”

The Maitlands nodded, “We haven’t even left the house since the funeral,”

“Funeral,” Lydia shook her head, now amazed, “Wow, you guys really _are_ dead aren’t you? Well,” she continued as she stood up from her seat, “But... can you prove it? Can you do some sort of tricks or something?" When they shook their heads no Lydia tilted her head at them, "Think I'd work on that if I were you because those sheets?" she snickered a moment, "They don't work. Not even Delia would be scared of that."

"You really think so?"

"I know so, Dead Mom was pretty good at scaring people. I picked up a few things here and there. Besides, you're trying to scare New Yorkers, do you have any idea how much weird stuff happens in that city on a day to day basis?"

"No," Adam and Barbara shook their heads, "We never actually left Winter River before. But New York has always sounded exciting, you must miss it."

"Not in the way you'd think," Lydia replied, "I miss it because I grew up there, it's... home, it's where Dead Mom is buried. But that's it. I’m sure you were able to guess already but I didn’t exactly _have_ many friends back in New York. Let alone any that would drag themselves out here from the hustle and bustle of the busy city. So... I mean I guess if I have to be stuck here in this stupid house… I’m glad you guys are here with me, up in the attic.”

“I thought you liked this place,” Adam argued, “Besides, it’s not stupid. It’s a classic Victorian structure with a generous plot of land and the original crown molding. All of which, might I add, your father is desecrating with his taste -or lack thereof for that matter- in interior design,”

“Adam,” Barbara gently chided, “You and I both know that’s not why Lydia doesn’t like it here,”

“I know, I know,” he relented, “I’m just saying… it’s not _helping_ ,”

“I like what you did with the place,” Lydia offered, “It’s a nice house but…” she sighed, “It’s not home. Not to me anyways. My home is back…” she trailed off as she had a realization, “Wait… you guys said you wanted your house back right? Wanted my father out?”

“Well, yes but-”

“Well that’s what I want too,” Lydia continued quickly, “My father wouldn’t just give up on a house he put money into. But… he would if he knew there was something that could detract from its resale value…” she looked them dead in the eyes, “like a house being haunted by angry, vicious spirits.”

“But how are we supposed to pull this off?” Adam and Barbara asked, “We don’t have any real ghost powers, we’re not scary looking, and even if we were; what good does it do for us to pull our heads off around people who can’t even see us?”

“You have a point,” Lydia admitted, “You’re not scary looking. But just because you don’t look scary, doesn’t mean we can’t make you _sound_ scary. Come on, I’ve got a plan,”

Adam and Barbara looked at each other for a moment and shrugged. Why not? What did they have to lose? They were already stuck in the house anyways, might as well give Lydia’s idea a shot. With hopeful smiles they quickly followed after her.

BJ BJ BJ

If by all accounts Charles Deetz was a single, unattached man, there should have been no reason for the guilt he felt as he put his clothes back on while Delia lay in his bed, twirling her hair and pulling from her vape. And yet, he did, fobbing off her compliment with a statement of the obvious. He was good at sex, it came with lots of practice. And as a formerly young and handsome trust fund college boy who’d attended one of the biggest party schools daddy’s money could buy, he’d gotten lots of practice before now. But he worried, about the future, about his daughter. About the future of his daughter, and how things seemed to be going everywhere and nowhere all at once. He thought about words unspoken, that he knew he would have to put voice too eventually. But how could he think of the perfect words to describe such a less than perfect situation. One made all the more complicated by his own doing, seducing his own employee for personal gratification.

Delia was adamant she was on the verge of a breakthrough, foiled only by Lydia’s own sheer stubbornness. Ha, that reminded him of… no. No more waiting for a breakthrough. Life coaching had failed; in a sense, Delia had failed. But how could he expect her to succeed when he’d put her in the impossible position of being a supportive figure to his child, but also his secret lover at the same time? Especially when, and Charles hated to admit this, he’d failed her too. Emily’s departure from their lives had rocked their world, shaken it to its core. And then, he’d made the abrupt decision to start over fresh. A clean slate, that he thought would be the best for everyone. But all it was was more upheaval in Lydia’s already tumultuous world. What Lydia needed more than anything was stability, dependability, family. And how could he do any of that when he was sneaking around with Delia like the teenage boy he thought he’d left behind years ago? He couldn’t, that was the answer he’d come to.

One way or another, it had to stop. It had to come to an end. Except, though he was a great business man, somehow negotiating proposals was a lot easier to do to a board of impassive businessmen rather than his current partner. Delia completely missed his meaning and thought he was dumping her and firing her. And in a huff she decided to voice it to him first.

“You can’t fire-dump me, because _I_ fire-dump you!” she declared as she rolled out of his bed and began storming off.

“Delia what does that even mean!” he asked her, managing to stop her departure as she got caught up in her own unnecessarily hurt feelings.

“Why Charles why?” Delia asked him with tears in her eyes, “Every time, every single time I start to feel like I have a place somewhere. Like I finally _belong_ somewhere something like this happens! ‘Goodbye Delia, hit the road Delia, Vishnu doesn’t need any more disciples Delia’! Why can’t for once there be a place for _me_?”

“Delia there _is_!” Charles shouted at her. Louder than he had meant to. He paused for a moment and sighed, “Look, I’m not good with… feelings. You know this. I find it hard to express myself in an articulate manner when it comes to matters of the… well the heart. Delia, you _do_ have a place here. I know I hired you to help Lydia, but you have helped _me_. And I want you to continue to do so, from here on in. No more secrets, no more hiding. Do you understand what I’m proposing to you?”

“No,” Delia shook her head, “What?”

He dropped to one knee and said, “I’m proposing to you,” and from out of his pocket he pulled out a diamond ring. Taking a deep breath he asked her to sign a prenup and become his second wife. A question to which her response was a resounding yes. Enthusiastically she leapt into his arms as he placed the ring on her finger. She admired the quality and craftsmanship and then the thought occurred to her,

“Charles, when did you have time to stop by a jeweler? And more importantly, how did you know my ring size?”

“Ah, that,” and here he became a little sheepish, “Actually I… I carry around diamond rings in my pocket. Lighter and easier to retrieve than cash, since they all come with a serial number engraved in them any other jeweler or pawn broker can see when examining it. I plan on getting you one you actually like though, eventually.”

“Well, it’s alright,” Delia said as she placed a kiss on his lips, “I like this one anyways.”

He felt, lighter, happier, with the resolution to tell Lydia. No more secrets, more or less, from now on. Naturally there were good reasons to keep _some_ things unsaid, like presents for special occasions and other such surprises. But he wouldn’t hide how he had coped from his daughter any longer.

And then, he heard a scream. Lydia’s scream. He hadn’t heard that in years. But just in case, he instructed Delia to find a hiding place while he dealt with his daughter. He may have wanted to tell her the truth, but this wasn’t the kind of news you sprung on your grieving teenaged daughter in the middle of the night. And in Lydia came running, shouting some nonsense about ghosts chasing her with vivid descriptions of how horrifying and disgusting they looked and Charles couldn’t help his skepticism. He’d certainly played enough pranks at her age to know better than to believe her. And considering who her mother had been, sadistic strains on his blood pressure was practically a family past time for the other members of his family. Except that Lydia had none of her mother’s subtlety and patience for laying a good trap. But she persisted with the act, and he’d decided enough was enough,

“Lydia, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but-” but she wasn’t listening. Lydia insisted that they needed to head back to their old home in New York without any time to grab anything more than what they could carry in their arms. Or at least, he assumed that had been what she was _going_ to say before she discovered Delia hiding beneath his sheets.

“What the-” Lydia paused, “Delia?”

“Hey,” Delia replied, a cloud of smoke escaping her mouth as she tried to somehow make the teenage daughter of her employer finding her in said employer’s bed not look as bad as it did.

Charles turned away, even though he knew the aspersion would be coming in his direction at any moment.

“Dad?” Lydia began, sounding far more betrayed than he thought she would, “What is Delia doing in your bed?”

“Well, I…” Charles began to explain but Lydia cut her off.

“No wait,” she said, tone as sharp as a knife and glacial as north pole ice, “I think I can guess. But seriously Dad? It’s only been six months! How could you? How could you do this to Mom!”

“Lydia I-”

“ _Why_? Why would you do this? To her and to _me_? Did you think you could keep it a secret forever? Just another thing you ‘conveniently forgot’ to tell me? What else have you been keeping from me?”

Charles’ gaze flicked to Delia, who motioned for him to go on. He took a deep breath, “Lydia, there is one more thing… I,” courage Charles, courage, “I have asked... Delia to marry me.”

 _“What?”_ if he had literally stabbed her in the back, he was certain Lydia wouldn’t have sounded as heartbroken and betrayed, “Dad no,” she shook her head, emotions warring between sadness and anger, “No you can’t _do this!_ ”

“I can, and I will, and I need to,” Charles put his hands on his daughter’s shoulder and tried to make her see reason, “Lydia this is good thing. I know you think you’re an adult, but there's still so much you don’t know. I need a wife; _you_ need a _mother_!”

“But I already _have_ a mother,” Lydia shot back, words dripping with venom and eyes filled with malice. But it didn’t last, “Dad,” her voice was probably an echo of her spirits right now. In other words, broken, “I know you don’t believe me, but if you can only trust me on one thing trust me on this; this house is haunted. It has ghosts, _ghosts_. And if there are ghosts here, that means Mom might still be back in our old house. You have to let us _try_ -”

“Lydia!” Charles bellowed, watching for the first time as Lydia balked at his frustration with her instead of meeting it with a head of iron and a bull’s stubbornness. Then again, maybe it wasn’t just frustration with her, but at the situation. Words unspoken desperately pushed behind his teeth, his own venomous arrows notched and ready to be fired. No, he was the adult. He would swallow them, repress them, and yet, “Your mother is _gone_!”

It came out harsh. But the truth always was. He sighed and in defeat sat down on the edge of his bed, “Your mother is gone,” he repeated sullenly, “And no amount of wishful thinking, of talk of ghosts and haunted houses will change that. _None_ of it will bring her back to us. All we can do now, is move forward. And that is what I’m choosing to do, with Delia by my side. You may not like that, any of what I’ve just said. But I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to expect you to accept that,” he took another deep breath and continued, feeling much older and more tired than he had not ten minutes ago, “In twenty-four hours, Maxie Deen will be here to have dinner with our family. And I would like for us to _be_ a family, a _whole_ family.”

Lydia was still shooting him that hurt look as she folded her arms and looked away. But she hadn’t left the room yet, so maybe there was hope. Delia went over to her, knowing she maybe couldn’t help, but how much worse could things get?

“Lydia,” she began, “I know, this is sudden. And you’re upset with the change and you have every right to be. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before, but…” she bit her lip, “Maybe, maybe _this_ ,” she gestured to the three of them, “was meant to be.”

Lydia glared at her but said nothing, choosing instead to brush her off and brush by her as she went to her father while Delia (and unseen the Maitlands) watched on in silence. She stuck out her chin, and with the coldest tone she could muster she told her father, “I wish I was _dead_. Maybe then I _would_ have a family again.”

And with that parting remark, she stormed off. The Maitlands gave chase, not wanting her to be alone with such volatile emotions. But Charles and Delia sat down on the bed, pondering what they could possibly do now. And where they would go from here. Delia, now more or less secure with the weight of the ring on her finger, finally dared to bring up the line,

“Charles,” she said softly, “Maybe you should have told her about-”

“Didn’t I?” Charles asked in response, “Besides, what’s the point of telling her now? I’ve said too much already, she won’t want to listen.”

“Then…” Delia looked at the ring. Barely on her finger for more than five minutes, but she was willing to make the sacrifice for Lydia’s sake, “Maybe we should postpone the engagement, at least until Lydia has had time to come to terms with everything-”

“No,” Charles said quickly, “No. No, she’ll be alright,” he assured his new fiancee, “She just needs more time.”

But as though nature itself were contradicting his words, there came an ominous crack of thunder in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


	5. Up on the Rooftop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, back again with another chapter. Finally a meeting between our two favorite characters! Hope you enjoy it!

Well this was a fine mess he’d gotten himself into. Several hours later out on the roof and he was still there. He’d been hoping the Maitlands would throw themselves at his feet, begging for his help despite their apparent helplessness. Theoretically, he could have just possessed them and been done with it, but that was too easy. And the plot still had like ten more scenes to get through. Were they even at the break for intermission yet? Nope, no, not even close.

Beetlejuice sighed, what was he doing here? How could he really have thought this would all work out? He'd spent three months with the Maitlands, he knew exactly what they were like. They weren't scary, and they certainly weren't cold blooded killers. The scariest thing about them was just how normal and boring they were. And that was all they had. They were all _he_ had at the moment. And wasn't that just the kicker? Here he was, a monster with phenomenal mind melting, reality warping, world altering powers and no way to use them. Not unless someone could see him, not unless someone would set him free. So, here he was, out on the roof. Banished, exiled, utterly invisible and ignored. He'd seen enough life pass him by to know that it was in no way shape or form fair. But could he not have one person, one single living person look _at_ him instead of _through_ him? Could he have one person accept him for whatever the fuck he was? Could he have them look at him, in awe and perhaps a bit of fear and desire of what he could do? Of just what he was capable of? That was all he wanted, it wasn't too much to ask now was it?

Banished, disavowed, how long had he been stuck here in the breathing world? In but apart. Just like everywhere else. There was no one, no one who would really see him. No one who could help him bridge that gap. Forever doomed to remain nothing but a spectral shadow, less than invisible, practically nonexistent. Pulling out some extra limbs as he was wont to do -theatrical even when depressed- Beetlejuice contemplated. How long would he remain invisible? How long would he be forced to contemplate endless scenarios that could never plausibly happen just to hold on to that single tenuous scrap of sanity he possessed? Until he swallowed his pride and went back home? What even _was_ home anymore? It wasn’t the Netherworld. It wasn’t his mom. Damn that Juno, always fobbing him off on Tina, “because she had paperwork”. Bullshit. She didn’t want him. Nobody wanted him. Nobody was like him. Nobody at all.

Beetlejuice looked up at the night sky. Frowning at the clouds blocking his view of the endless cosmos he used his magic to part them. There they were. The moon, the stars, the endless abyss of space. Stars… they said he’d been named after a star. One of the brightest stars in the sky. Which just so happened to be in the armpit of the constellation of the great hunter Orion. He didn’t know if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment. Part of something great, but the gross disgusting part no one wanted anything to do with. But being gross and disgusting was great; you knew the people who stayed with you stayed with you for life, death, well, you got his point. But who did he have like that? No one, no one at all. The Maitlands had bailed, though he was certain they’d be back. There was no way those schmucks could scare anyone. Might as well say bye-bye to their house. But even so, once they _had_ their house, they wouldn’t need him anymore. If he could just get someone to release him, to set him free, to let him loose. He would show them. He’d show them all. But the odds of that happening? Zilch. Millennia of fucking around with the mortal world had taught him there were precious few able to see spirits in their lifetimes. The knowledge had once given him hope but he should just accept it. He would always remain unseen.

And then, he heard something. The sound of footsteps. Was it the Maitlands? No, they probably hadn’t even figured out where he’d gone yet. But who then? His question was answered when he saw a leg clad in lace stick itself onto the roof, followed by the black ensemble of a… dress. And then, short black hair, and skin like porcelain. Whoa, did we have here? A girl. A pretty girl. A _hot_ pretty girl. Damn, if he wasn’t trapped in this limbo hell... She was concerned with a piece of paper, reading what sounded like a suicide note out loud. Fuck, what a waste. Especially since there was something about her that seemed so familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Oh well, at least she’d make a hot dead girl, and maybe then he’d finally get a little fun out of being here. But shit, if she died, and she was stuck here with the Maitlands, fuck. Oh hell no, he’d have to find somewhere else to take her because there was no way he was putting up with Mister and Missus Strait-laced when there was a hot goth chick he could be getting up to all sorts of nasty and depraved things with. He wondered if she even knew what she liked, though those boots of hers, covered in buckles and straps, might have given him a pretty good indication. But before he could dive deep down the rabbit hole of debauchery, her words caught his attention,

“I’m an outcast, forsaken, _invisible_!”

Now there was something he’d heard before. Damned if they wouldn’t make a fine pair. He chuckled mirthlessly and sighed,

“Well, that makes two of us,” she couldn’t hear him, but she would soon enough.

But she paused mid-running start, and she looked at him, “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing on my roof?”

He looked at her, had she really heard him? And more importantly? Could she see him? When he asked her as much she responded again, providing a flattering -though most probably wouldn’t see it that way- description of him. And oh sweet Satan burning below she could _see_ him! Well, well, well, wasn’t _this_ an interesting turn of events?

Lydia didn’t know how to handle her emotions. It was all too much, too soon; her father’s betrayal, his insistence that he wasn’t doing anything wrong just because Mom was dead, the fact that he wanted to play house and not only expected, but demanded she play along. Misery on top of misery on top of misery. He didn’t believe her when she said that Mom could be back home, and if they could just find her, then they could be a family again. Lydia didn’t even think he _wanted_ that. Did he truly want to forget her? And more importantly, if he did, how could he reasonably expect to do that when her mother’s clone was standing right there in front of him every day? Lydia refused to be moved, she refused to be changed, she refused to be molded into something she wasn’t. There was only one person who really understood her. Mom, Dead Mom. Maybe if she was dead, she could find her, and they could be together again. At the very least, her father would be sorry he’d driven her to this, and considering what she knew of the Maitlands, maybe she could be stuck in the attic with them. No matter what, Lydia saw no downsides.

Her hands had been shaking as she hastily scribbled out the suicide note, not really thinking so much as just trying to get her thoughts and feelings down on paper before ending it all. She was ready to cry as she ripped the paper out of her notebook and headed for the roof. Unfortunately, Delia didn’t believe in most modern medicine -or anything to do with science- so she’d gotten rid of all the medication in the house, and her father had yet to head into town to get some. Overdosing wasn’t an option, especially since she didn’t know where in a sleepy little town like this one might be able to find enough illegal and dangerous substances to stop their heart without a prescription. Drugs had been easy to come by in New York, but since Lydia hadn’t realized they weren’t going back before she’d left she hadn’t considered it as a backup plan. Stabbing could work, but it seemed like a lot of pain and mess, electrocution via a toaster of some kind? Nah, if there _was_ an afterlife she didn’t want to go into it looking like a piece of well done bacon. Call her vain if you wanted, but not wanting to look terrible when she reunited with her mother didn’t seem like vanity to her. So that left one option, jumping. Quick, easy, relatively painless comparatively. Just one step off the edge and she’d be plummeting into reunion with the one she cared the most about. With any luck, her skull would crack open and she’d be unconscious before the onslaught of pain fully started.

Lydia considered the note she intended for her father to find in her slackened grip when he discovered her body probably sometime next morning. Reading it over was probably a good idea, she wanted to make sure that he knew exactly why she was doing this, and how while it wasn’t all his fault -her misery and depression weren’t exactly something she was ignorant of after all- this latest stunt of his had been the straw that finally broke the camel’s back. How she couldn’t see herself going on with a mother who was gone and a father who was determined not to see her for who she was but only what he wanted her to be; an accessory, a doll instead of a daughter.

“I am, alone,” she read carefully, stepping out of the window and onto the roof, “I am utterly, alone.” taking a deep breath she continued, “By the time you read this, I, Lydia Deetz, will be gone, having plummeted to my death from the roof of this place you tried to force me to call home. I’m sure you’ll have your questions, but my motivations can be summed up with this; I have no reason to stay. Nothing and no one to live for anymore. I’m an outcast, forsaken, _invisible_!”

There was more, but that summed it up nicely enough. All Lydia wanted to do was get this over with and head for eternity. She backed up and began running, but then the strangest thing happened. Someone had a retort for the last spoken line of her note.

“Well, that makes two of us,”

Lydia paused. What? But who? Adam and Barbara didn’t know where she’d gone. Besides, that didn’t sound like either of them. She turned in the direction and saw… Lydia didn’t know exactly what she was looking at. Another ghost perhaps? But he looked far more dead and decaying than either of them. Pale almost waxy skin, eyes sunken into his sockets, patches of moss growing in with the purple hair on his head and on his face. A dingy, dusty, dirty suit with rips and patches and loose threads hanging from it that made him look like he’d died trying to escape an old fashioned prison had it not been for the fact that the stripes were going the wrong direction and the cut making him look more like some kind of zootsuit swinger.

And so, Lydia said the only thing that could be said, “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing on my roof?”

He seemed shocked that she’d answered him. And Lydia remembered, Adam and Barbara had said that the living tended to ignore the strange and unusual; and since she’d come here, she hadn’t yet seen anything stranger than him. But his countenance took on a hopeful light, paired with the excited trembling in his voice as he asked her, 

“Can, can you _see_ me?”

“Yeah…” Lydia drawled, uncertain as to why he was so happy about this development. Adam and Barbara had been excited to know that she could see them, but this was on a different level. Seeing the kind of doubt in his eyes she added, “You look like a bloated zebra some lions ripped apart but didn’t eat because something was obviously wrong with it so it was left to rot in the hot African sun. Or,” she paused, “Like a dirty college frat boy in his third go at senior year who got baked and wasted and threw up all over himself while trying to hit on a freshman girl at the frat house’s Halloween party,”

That little flirt. Not only could she see him, she was saying all the right things. God if he weren’t already desperate that alone would have been enough to convince him to do anything to her. Uh, _for_ her, he meant for her of course. Even so, Beetlejuice put his hand to where most people’s hearts would be and smiled at her,

“You _can_ see me!” he said excitedly, “This is gonna be so, so _good_! So,” he jumped off the small outcropping on the chimney he’d manifested for the sake of sitting down and approached her, smoothing back his hair and dusting off his lapels, “Living girl. Ah, Lydia, was it? What brings you to the roof on a fine evening like this?”

Lydia looked at him a moment, then down at the vista below. And then she reminded him, “I’m gonna jump!”

“NO!” he exclaimed quickly as he reached out a hand before remembering. He couldn’t interact with the world of the living so putting his arm out wouldn’t do much to stop her. He quickly withdrew, gave her a little personal space and cleared his throat, “Ahem, uh… I mean, ‘no,’” he added with a wave of his hand.

Lydia rolled her eyes at him and turned away, clearly intent on making another attempt. But he tried for diversion, “I mean, hey, you know normally I’m all for freedom to do whatever the fuck you want, and who for that matter. But um… it's just, I’ve seen a lot of death in my time sugar, and typically throwing yourself off a roof or any other high place doesn’t exactly work.”

“What?” he had her attention, clearly little Lydia hadn’t done her research before deciding on this course of action. Perfect, he could stall her long enough to convince her he was her better option in every single way.

“Yeah, don’t you know? Like two out of every three people that jump off a building don’t die. They just get some really bad broken bones, maybe some brain damage if they’re lucky, and supposedly some of them realize that about two thirds of the way down their problem had another solution.”

“Well good for those people,” Lydia folded her arms at him, “But I’m not like them.”

No shit Sherlock, he’d figured that out when she’d told him she could see him. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever seen before. And she knew it. She was proud of her difference, and pride was exploitable. And he wanted to exploit her in more ways than one. Oh yes, he could feel a quick idea coming on.

“If you’re so sure about that,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “Why are you determined to _be_ like them then?”

“What?” Lydia looked at him, and he could almost sense delicious rage burbling, “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you think you’re the first person to think their problems are so great they can’t be solved by anything but death?” Beetlejuice goaded her, “'Oh! I’m so misunderstood; my partner dumped me for being too quirky; my television doesn’t get true HD reception; my life is so hard! Guess I’ll kill myself so everyone will know how _hard_ my life was!' Pfft," he scoffed, "suicide is a coward’s way out. But, if you wanna prove to the world you’re just like _everybody else_ , hey” he shrugged, “Who am I to stop you?”

“I’m not like everybody else,” was Lydia’s petulantly sullen reply, “There’s only one person I’m like and-” she cut herself off, “It doesn’t matter anyways,”

“‘Course it doesn’t,” Beetlejuice told her, tone sarcastically sympathetic, “Well, if you’re ready, you want me to count down or something?”

Lydia eyed him, now suddenly suspicious, “You’re way too cool about this for someone who screamed for me not to do it just a moment ago,” she told him, folding her arms at him, “What’s your deal?”

And it took him a minute to respond because he was too busy admiring the covered cleavage and wondering what he’d have to do to see beneath it. Beetlejuice shook his head,

“Nothin’,” he told her easily, “I mean, if I were you I wouldn’t be literally throwing my life away, but hey,” he shrugged again, “Your life, your choice, and if that’s your choice, I won’t stop ya.”

“But you’re already dead,” Lydia pointed out.

“Newsflash angel,” he told her, “Not all dead people get the chance to be alive. And then you get to watch a bunch of stupid breathers wander around and waste their very limited time yearning for death. And all I can ask is; why?” Lydia looked away and he quickly realized it was a sensitive topic, and he didn’t _do_ sensitive, “Well, hey, you prob’ly got your reasons. Everyone always does don’t they? Like I said, ‘f it were _me_ in your shoes I wouldn’t be throwing my life out the window,” he paused and inclined his head to the roofline, “Or… off a roof in this case. But again, your life, your choice to waste it.”

It was the first time since she’d gotten here anyone had said it was her choice. It hadn’t been her choice to come here. It hadn’t been her choice to stay. It hadn’t been her choice to accept Delia into their family. Nothing had been her choice, not even following the Maitlands into the attic. Taking her life was her choice, but it was nice to hear someone acknowledge that. And a guy who had no concept of being alive, wasn’t that interesting? Especially since he was the liveliest person she’d come into contact with since she’d gotten here.

Her arms unfolded only to wrap around herself, “And if you _were_ me?” she asked him, “What would you do?”

Beetlejuice gave her a wistful smile, “Can’t tell ya, ‘cuz ‘m not,” it was honest. The kind of honest he didn’t normally do. But her vulnerability in this moment caused some shallow well of tenderness to leak through.

Lydia sighed, “So what should I do then Mister Roof Squatter?”

“Hmm…” Beetlejuice made a show of thinking, then he lit up, “Hey, I have an idea; instead of impaling yourself on that birdbath you could uh… I don’t know… say my name three times?”

Maybe he’d played his cards a little too quickly, because she immediately looked to him and asked, “What?”

But the excitement of having a chance so close within his grasp was starting to mess with his patience. And he was more than willing to play the submissive if it meant getting her to do what he wanted most,

“Don’t make me beg,” it was a half-hearted request, maybe a quarter-hearted at best, “I mean... I will,” he amended quickly, not wanting to lose her completely He’d seen those eyes light up at the prospect of him grovelling. And pride be temporarily damned if it got him out of limbo, “I just don’t want to- okay fine!” he relented, immediately dropping to his knees and then to his hands. He might have gone for kissing her boots if he wasn’t so sold on remaining nonthreatening enough to get her to let him out. He crawled around her to the other side, almost managing a peek up her skirt as he did so, “I am so sick and tired of invisible, and you,” he pointed to her as he rose back to his knees, “You can change all of that,”

Lydia let out a mirthless laugh. Naturally he would think that. But the world couldn’t be fixed by someone being able to see you. If it could, maybe she wouldn’t have been pushed to this point, “I can’t _change_ anything,” she informed him, “If I could I wouldn’t be doing this. This _is_ the only way I can change things. Once I’m dead, my dad’ll be _sorry-_ ”

“Whoa!” he threw out an arm in front of her chest to stop her, and to his surprise, it worked, “No he won’t, you’ll just be dead.” but the resentment for her father, that was something he knew, something he understood, something he could manipulate, “Hey, _hey_ ,” he realized, turning her to look at him, “I get it you know. That feeling of resentment towards a parent? I know what it’s like. You don’t like your dad? Well I don’t like my M-Mom.”

God damn he couldn’t even say the word without the memories coming back. And Lydia was giving him a funny look. Getting back on track he told her, “The point is, maybe we can help each other out,”

Lydia scoffed, “How?”

“Let me out, and I can show you,” he promised, “You could use a friend here, an ally, someone in your corner. Look, I don’t know what your dad did, but it’s obvious he hurt ya. But offing yourself isn’t gonna make him regret hurting _you_ Lydia. Dying don’t solve anyone’s problems, and between you and me, I know exactly where the suiciders go, straight into civil service and if you think _this_ place is a nightmare,” he blew a raspberry, “You ain’t seen _shit_ yet. ‘Sides, why should you be the one to leave? The way I see it, Daddy’s the one who needs to fuck right on off outta here, ‘n you should stick around.”

Lydia contemplated the note in her hands as she let his words wash over her. It was tempting, very, very tempting.

Beetlejuice plucked the note from her and set it ablaze, “Lydia, the phrase is don’t get mad, get even; fight fire _with_ fire, all that good stuff. You don’t need to end yourself, you need to _defend_ yourself. Daddy’s in the wrong here, he’s the one to blame. And where I come from, you pass the blame, you’re the one who gets maimed,” he noticed her revulsion to that and added, “Uh… what I’m trying to say is that together; we can solve all our problems. Now which do you prefer, extermination or assassination?”

“What? None!” Lydia exclaimed, looking almost horrified. Alright, murder was off the table for now.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, “The finer points can wait, but first; you gotta say my name,”

Lydia watched him go through his presentation. Because that’s what this was, a presentation. And one awfully well tailored to her current predicament. Tempting as it may have been to consider the possibility of patricide, Lydia didn’t want her father to die. She wanted him to _suffer_ , and that was the crucial difference. But, she wasn’t so determined to see that she would allow herself to be used by this out of practice charlatan. He wanted out, and was desperate enough to grovel for it. But if he was so determined to try and convince her, Lydia wouldn’t say no. Watching him work his ass off to try and convince her was amusing, and more than a little empowering. She wondered if this was how those other women, the one in her mom’s erotic novels, had felt. That feeling of exhilaration, that rush of power as she watched this creature of untold power and darkness dance like a puppet on strings for her. For her favor, for her benevolence. And she felt as though she could take no greater pleasure than in seeing his face fall after being brought so close to what he wanted. So she let him go on, playing coy when needed,

“I don’t know your name,” she reminded him, tone flirtatious as she placed her hands behind her back and squared her shoulders.

“Well I can’t say it,” Even as he huffed she noticed his eyes drift down to her chest. 

Lydia made a show of putting one finger to her lips and tapping against it thoughtfully, “How ‘bout a game of charades?”

“Yes! Let’s play it!”

He should have just asked her if she had something to write his name down with, or, preferably, he could have given her one of his business cards. Then again, this girl probably wanted more of a challenge. So he gave it to her. She seemed more stumped by the second part of his name than anything else. Even so, he was impressed at how quickly Lydia figured it out. And all she had to do was say it three times, in a row, unbroken by anything else. He could speak in between her pauses, but she herself couldn’t say something between it. It had been an addendum after a little bit of fucking with an ancient demonic cult, who had summoned a demon nearby and gotten him. But he’d almost gotten them to say it three times. Of course, however, demonic summonings were closely monitored by the bureaucracy of Hell, and that whole school house incident had meant he was on everyone’s radar at the moment. But she was mad, and she wanted to get her father back for whatever the fuck it was he’d done to her. And him, well getting out was priority number one, fucking with the living world number two, and taking that delectable little pout off those pretty little lips of hers was just an added bonus. Of course, thinking about her mouth only led down the trail of things he’d like to _do_ to it, and now was the time he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“Ready?” he asked her. Her mouth curled in a coquettish smirk as she nodded,

“Yeah,”

He could feel the excitement, and more than likely some pent up lust, bubbling like his magic under his skin, he could already imagine what he’d get up to and into as he replied, “Okay, go!”

Lydia dropped her arms as she looked at him. Well, he did say it had to be spoken unbroken, so she technically had an out at any time.

“Beetlejuice,” she said, not really sure if he was a ghost who couldn't be seen unless she said his name, or just some really horny homeless magician who got off on hearing someone say his ‘magic words’ three times. His reactions probably wouldn't have been different regardless.

“Beetlejuice!” She repeated, a breathy hiss she hadn't even known she was capable of making as she strung him out and riled him up all the more. His responses were practically whimpers, and all it did was fuel something in her Lydia hadn't known she'd possessed.

“Bee…” that little cocktease was determined to live up to her moniker wasn't she? Drawing his name out like that. She couldn't have any idea of what it was doing to him. So close, he was so fucking close!

“This is gonna be _so_ good!” He declared, feeling his knees shaking and ready to buckle. And that was when she pulled the rug right out from under him,

“Cause,” Lydia finished, delighting in the confused and crestfallen expression on his face. She couldn’t help the smile that came to her own as she took it in, “You’re so sweet, a real standup guy, y'know? I just _couldn’t_ impose. I suppose I can think on it, let you know. But see, I really prefer my chances with the pavement below.”

“But-” he attempted to protest, and Lydia couldn’t resist,

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice,” she shook her head, “Being young and female doesn’t mean I’m easy in any sense of the word, “You think I’m that desperate? Not a chance, I’ve been swimming in dangerous waters for six months, and you think I’m gonna put sharkbait on myself? My life sucks,” she regarded him with a wave of her hand, “But it doesn’t suck _that_ much. Alright? Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice,” Lydia couldn’t help the smirk as she added, “Be a doll and spare me the lecture.”

Beetlejuice fell to his knees with a groan equal parts lustful and frustrated, which only made everything worse. That fucking cocktease little vixen. Three times spoken, three times denied. God if he were only free, the things he would do to her for messing with a demon like this. But as it was, all he could do was try to sway her,

“Just think it over,” he pleaded, “Think of what I’m offering you; a full time specter!”

Lydia was leaning over him, spreading out her hands as she asked, “But are you any good?”

“You betcha! Trust me baby!” he assured her, scooting just a little bit closer and trying to keep his eyes off her chest, which given that he was right about eye level with it was difficult. But his smile was winning, his aura endearing, how could she possibly say no?

“Cute,” she murmured, “But I just met ya,” Lydia couldn’t help the almost girly giggle that escaped her as she considered him. A big bad powerful entity, entirely at her mercy and willing to do anything for her if she’d just let him out. He was actually kind of adorable like this. At least the fact that pathetic groveling was always adorable was the lie she’d tell herself later as she reached up with a single finger, lightly tapping him on the tip of his nose while she told him, “Really, it’s a flattering offer-”

“C’mon Lydia,” Beetlejuice pleaded, “Don’tcha wanna see dad _suffer_?”

“I do,” Lydia told him, “But I can just as easily do that by jumping _off_ ,”

“No!” he grabbed at the hem of her dress. Man, he really, really didn’t want her to kill herself tonight didn’t he?

“Look Beetlejuice,” Lydia folded her arms, “I’m suicidal, not stupid, and not crazy. I’d have to be _both_ in order to let you out. Or,” she added as he hopped back up to his feet and dusted himself off, “You’re just gonna have to do better than that.”

“You,” he shook his head, the smile still clearly visible even with his building aggravation, “You are… tougher than you look.”

“I’m the daughter of a Wall Street businessman, what did you honestly expect?” Lydia asked him in reply, “I don’t do business with anyone unless I know who I’m working with. So how ‘bout it? Got any references?”

It was at this moment Barbara and Adam finally thought to check the roof. It wouldn’t have taken as long to come to this conclusion had they not been wary of heading down into the basement. It was a very strange thing to go back to the place you died, which had caused some minor panic attacks. But when Lydia hadn’t been able to be found there, they knew the roof was the only place left to check. If she wasn’t there, she’d left the house completely, and considering she was new to town and it was late at night, they were understandably worried for her.

“Lydia there you are!” Barbara exclaimed as she ran out to the roof, checking the teenager over for any injuries or bruises. Adam followed closely behind.

References, references, well here were two he could use. Beetlejuice’s grin was sinister even though his tone was light, “Babs! Flannelman! My old pals!”

And Adam immediately felt a protective urge that dominated any fear or disgust dealing with the other man. Lydia was as good as family, and he wasn’t going to let that vile monstrosity and his corrupting influence anywhere near her, “You get away from her!” he moved to stand in between them, over his shoulder he warned the girl, and Beetlejuice wouldn’t be having them ruin his second chance at freedom, “Lydia this is a dangerously unstable individual, you have no idea what he’s-”

With barely a fraction of juice, the Maitlands were under his control. Puppets on strings, and he moved them accordingly. Naturally, he couldn’t help but throw out a couple of ego strokes, just something to keep her interest in him a little beyond what he could do for her. The manipulated Maitland marionettes extolled his many qualifications and how he’d helped them before he let them go. Lydia had noticed what he was doing almost immediately and so when he broke the controlling trance she was standing right next to him. No sense of danger with this one, just the way he liked it.

“What the heck was that?” Barbara said as she regained control of her spectral form.

“That was so… _violating_!” Adam shuddered, wanting nothing more than to take every last one of his nonexistent organs out and scrub them with lye and steel wool.

"There ya go babes,” he jerked his thumb at the couple, “A couple of five star ratings,”

Lydia at last seemed impressed, “What was that?”

Beetlejuice scoffed, “That? That was possession, ghostly trick number one. Any ghost can do it. I can also do this,” with another wave of his hand, Barbara was speaking, but it wasn’t her voice,

“Learn to throw your voice, fool your friends, fun at parties!”

But she wasn’t interested in that, “Any ghost?” Lydia clarified, eyes dark with interest. He felt his ego, among other things, swelling and he preened.

“Pretty much, yeah, any ghost’ll do,”

“Well then Beetlejuice,” Lydia grabbed ahold of his tie and yanked his face down to hers. With a sadistic smirk she asked him, “What do I need _you_ for?”

His smile fell. Fuck. He’d thought he might have played his hand too early a couple of times before. But now he knew for sure. Lydia had never had any intention other than fucking with him. Which, under any other circumstances, would have been annoying enough, being just one word too many from what he wanted her to be doing. But this? Oh she was good, but he was desperate and horny and fuck it all just let him loose! Lydia began sashaying away from him, rocking those hips like a damn porch swing. She rested against the chimney as he went after her,

“Whoa, whoa, hey, hold up here,” he held out his hands placatingly, “You’re telling me you’d prefer those lightweights to the champion bio-exorcist? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the Maitlands are… sweet, lovable, the audience point of entry characters and for good reason Babes. But they’re hardly what I’d call scary. You want to fuck your dad up? You’re gonna need more than the poster couple for country after-living. And kid, I’m a demon, right from the fiery pits of Hell, you think they can out scare _me_? C’mon, I know I may have gone a little hard on the sell here but I’m just trying to make you see what you have right- whoa!”

Lydia was tired of listening to him talk. Talk, talk, talk, that was all he seemed to do. All any adult seemed to do around her. Meaningless words, so rarely backed up by actions. But the Maitlands had listened, so she was willing to place her bets with them. Besides, she already knew they weren’t scary, but she also knew it wouldn’t take much to freak out her father so long as they timed it right. She noticed the demon standing just a little too close to the other edge of the roof, and with one dainty hand and a not so dainty shove, she was rid of him.

“Lydia!” the Maitlands exclaimed as they watched her push a man off a roof. Sure, they didn’t like Beetlejuice, but they still had some common decency and human compassion.

“What?” Lydia asked them, “He was already dead, you know I wouldn’t have if I thought he could get hurt,”

“How do you know he’s not?” they asked her.

“Easy,” Lydia peered over the roof, “Hey! Bugbreath! Are you double dead down there or what?”

“Fuck you you goddamn cocktease!” was his response to her.

“See? He’s fine,” Lydia waved him off, “Besides, you heard what he said, possession is ghostly lesson number one. It should be easy, since any ghost can do it.”

“Are you talking about us?” Adam asked, “Because I don’t think-”

“Fool your friends, fun at parties,” Barbara’s voice rang out around them, but the woman herself wasn’t speaking, “I _did_ it!” she finished, giddy with excitement.

“You see?” Lydia told them, “We don’t need that demon, the three of us, we can do this! We can scare my dad, get him out of the house, and get me back to New York, back to Dead Mom. I'm sure of it!”

“Alright,” Adam relented, “So what’s the plan here?”

“We’re gonna possess him,” Lydia told him, “Tomorrow we’ll work out the details, but this is gonna work, I know it!”

“We’re relying on you Lydia,” the Maitlands told her, heading back inside for the night.

And Lydia wouldn’t disappoint them. She peered over the edge where Beetlejuice was sitting and grumbling about being pushed off the roof, though it seemed like he was doing it more for attention than anything. He looked up at her and frowned, Lydia smirked in response. But the answering one he gave her told her he probably wasn’t going anywhere with his tail between his legs. He didn’t think she’d be able to pull it off without him. Well Lydia was determined to prove him wrong. She would, she had to. This was it, things were finally going to change. Finally going to go back to normal. She’d be back home, she’d find her mom, and she would make her father see her. Finally, she was going to make him say her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


	6. A Friend for Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is... a lot. Hope you enjoy that!

The following day was a buzz of activity as Charles and Delia got the main portion of the house ready for the dinner. Caterers came for the kitchen, people fluttered in and out as things were adjusted and set and reset so everything could be _perfect_. It had to be. Maxie Deen’s approval, and investment, was counting on it. He was still worried about Lydia, but Lydia would have to wait until everything was in position. Charles knew that if they just talked things through Lydia would see reason. She was reasonable, she couldn’t expect to go through life without a mother to help guide her. He’d meant what he said, Emily was gone, and no amount of wishful thinking or hoping would ever bring her back to them. She was beyond their reach now, and the only thing left to do was pick up the pieces of their shattered world and move on. Build a new one from what she had left behind. It wasn’t much at the moment, but they could make something truly wonderful if only Lydia would give it a _chance_. Instead, she was stuck in the past, not thinking clearly or rationally like he knew she could. Charles realized he’d paused in thought as activity swirled around him. No, no, now was not the time to be distracted by anything. The moment Maxie was gone Charles would sit down and have a proper talk with his daughter, one fueled by logic and rationale instead of high emotions running on secrets and feelings of betrayal.

Meanwhile, Lydia was busy working out the plan with the Maitlands. The ins and outs of what to do when. It wasn’t like they could do a practice run without drawing suspicion, especially not when timing would be the key element along with surprise, so they were limited to imagining what it might be like as they moved from portion to portion. Once she was sure Adam and Barbara had basically everything down they broke. Lydia still had a dinner date to keep after all, and she needed to be perfectly ready. Which meant getting in the headspace of the perfect prim and proper little poppet of a daughter that her father wanted out of her for the evening.

While Lydia went and got ready, Adam and Barbara wandered about the halls of their aesthetically ruined home, watching people come and go right through them. They somehow ended up splitting apart. Barbara found Charles in his office, going over the paperwork for the presentation. The home was supposed to speak for itself, but it wasn’t too bad to have a script memorized. But Charles couldn’t seem to focus. Since she was able to go about unseen and unnoticed, Barbara noticed the haggard look even as he rushed about. The lines on his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the puffiness that all spoke of sleepless nights spent in sorrow. And Barbara felt her beatless heart go out to him, it wasn’t only Lydia who’d lost someone when she’d lost her mother. Her father had lost a wife too, and despite his outburst last night, it seemed her absence had affected him far more than he’d let on. He was just trying to bury it beneath a cheerful veneer and optimistic outlook. Much like… much like _she’d_ used to do, Barbara realized.

It was a pity, Barbara thought to herself, as she looked him over in his dinner suit. Lydia’s father was a handsome man, a loving father even if he didn’t always express it in the best of ways. Tragedy shouldn’t have touched his family like this and torn it apart until it was fraying at the seams. No matter how badly she wanted her house back, Barbara was a mender at heart. She liked to fix things, and she wanted to fix this broken family as much as she wanted the encroachers gone. And then, as if she hadn’t already had no heart left to lose, she saw Charles reach into a drawer and pull something out, setting it on the desktop. In a frame of what looked like metallic lace, was a photo. A _family_ photo, Barbara realized with a start. The blonde woman cradling Lydia and nestled into Charles’ arms must have been Emily.

Charles sighed, “Oh Emily,” he lamented, “Why?” he was imploring the image in the photograph, seeking answers where there were none to be had, “Why did you have to leave us? I don’t know what to do anymore… And Lydia…” he sighed again, “She’s just like you in so many ways,”

He set the photo aside again and placed his face into his hands and Barbara broke. It didn’t matter that should this plan work she’d never see him again. In fact it made it all the more reason for her to do what she did. She couldn’t let him suffer, even if he didn’t realize he wasn’t doing it alone. Barbara slowly slid her spectral arms over his shoulders, wrapping them around him and hugging him from behind. Emily was a lucky woman, to have a man this devoted to her even as he tried to move on for the sake of his daughter. And as her heart crumbled, so too began her resolve. Would… would it really be so bad if they stayed? Charles and Lydia, and even Delia? Maybe they should rethink this… no, no! Barbara shook her head. Firm, she had to stand firm or else people would walk all over her in death just as they’d done in life. Barbara steeled her resolve and walked away, turning a blind eye to sorrow and deaf ear to words of anger and betrayal.

BJ BJ BJ

Meanwhile Adam stumbled upon Delia, sitting on the floor of her room in a half lotus position and attempting to meditate before the big dinner. He noticed the walls lined with trophies, but people didn’t win awards like this for life coaching… right? He may not have known a lot about the field but he was reasonably sure that wasn’t a thing. A closer inspection revealed them to be trophies for… beauty pageants? Wow. He never would have guessed. Well, not that the redhead wasn’t beautiful, she was. She reminded him a lot of those old movie stars he’d crushed on as a kid. Or wait… maybe… yes, now he had it. She reminded him of a young Carol Burnett, with her burnished red hair and something about the way she carried herself. Adam would have bet she’d be at least half as funny too if she didn’t take herself so seriously. The spirituality thing was certainly… different but he tried not to judge, he remembered how it had felt to be bullied for his interest in restoration.

But he was getting off track, these trophies for beauty pageants, it was something else to be sure. He wasn’t surprised that she’d won so many. Considering how glamorous and captivating she was -through her bizarre choice in outfits if nothing else- it seemed only natural. Didn’t explain the odd spazzing and desperation for false happiness though. He wondered why she was so unhappy, despite how she pretended otherwise. Delia broke free from her trance with the chiming of a small timer bell. She stretched and got up, and got ready. The outfit she chose for the evening was also interesting to say the least. Though to be honest it looked like one snag on a misplaced nail and she’d be suffering from the mother of all wardrobe malfunctions. The metallic gold was a nice color on her though. Delia sat before her mirror, putting on her makeup and giving herself a pep talk,

“Everything’s going to be fine Delia,” she assured herself, “Think positive, act positive, bring about positivity,” she set some brushes aside and rang a miniature wind chime she had hung nearby, humming in unison with the chimes, “This isn’t like back then. Charles isn’t going to leave you if things aren’t perfect. You don’t need to win a prize to have his love. You don’t need achievements to be worthy of his attention. Listen to me, Charles is _not_ like your parents. He loves you for who you are, and you know this.”

Oh. Oh no. No not that. Adam had vivid flashbacks to his own childhood. Of a mother who’d been left in the lurch by a less than perfect husband. Of how she’d returned to Winter River to live with her own mother so she could make sure her child was taken care of. Of the father he never knew because he had been her mother’s own rebellion against the constraints of her life at the time. Of how Nana had taught him the best thing in life to have was a skill. Of how the scents of apple pie and other sweet treats had clashed with the scent of burnt food from the local diner as his mother finally arrived home from work. Of how he always played it safe, was always the good child because he didn’t want to make Mom or Nana worry. And how in a small town like Winter River, there were many ways to make a nice conservative old woman worry. He’d never told her about those college years, the experimenting, the realization that he wasn’t into those things, he just wanted the chance to try them. Right? He knew who he really was, _right_?

There was another memory, his mother had been at work at the diner. There had been a knock at the door, he’d been about six, and Nana had told him he needed to answer the door while she got something out of the oven. He remembered seeing a man, he remembered a gasp of surprise from him as he’d looked at Adam, and then a gasp of horror from his Nana as she came to see who the visitor was. He’d been sent away after that, but the screaming and yelling and condemnation had made their way through the walls and ceiling where Adam waited in his room, trying to play with his trains and his blocks and block out the noise. There had been a slam of the door that rattled the structure. Whoever it was out on the porch, it sounded like Nana had refused to let him in. Which was strange in and of itself, because his Nana liked everyone. Adam, unable to contain his curiosity had wandered to the window and peered out. The man was walking back down the lane, but paused and looked up at the house. Adam, still naive and trusting at the time had merely waved, even though he was uncertain the man could see him. But to his surprise the man did, and had given a half-hearted wave back. It wasn’t until he was much, much older that Adam had realize who that man was, or why later Nana had come to him and made him promise never to tell his mother that man had been here.

Adam shook his head. No, terrible childhood memories aside, these people had nothing in common with him and Barbara. Nothing. Nothing but a daughter who was hurting, a father who was probably hurting, and this woman… trying her best to keep everything together but with her own issues making that all impossible. He watched Delia finish getting ready and take a deep breath,

“Mom and Dad can’t threaten to leave you anymore,” she told herself, “Charles said it last night, you help him. You are more than your… admittedly fading, looks. You are a life coach, you are a beacon of light, you are an inspiration, and you are going to go downstairs and help your fiance make some money so he can continue to take care of his family.”

Delia nodded firmly and turned, ready to head downstairs. Adam followed her out, seeing no point in staying if the woman wasn’t around. He didn’t know how he felt about any of this anymore. Was it really so bad to share a house with them if Lydia stuck around? Even if they were confined to the attic, at least they’d know their house was housing a family. No, no! Adam now was _not_ the time to be a doormat. Lydia wasn’t happy here, and Lydia’s happiness was tantamount. Even if they would miss her, she needed closure, which she wouldn’t get here. Even if it left him and Barbara alone for the next century and a half, Adam had to go through with this, he just _had_ to.

BJ BJ BJ

That goddamn little cocktease. Fuck, _fuck_! God was that hot. Even as he’d grumbled up to her as she’d uncaringly inquired about his well being, he couldn’t help but be impressed. This was no suicidal little pushover. This was a vengeful, vindictive vixen he had on his hands. A hellkitten, a succubus and he was more than ready to be drained dry by all that anger. Damn, he hadn’t been worked up like this since the last time he’d been able to make people scream, well and truly scream. The little bitch would play coy squeezing those tits of hers together and backing off like she didn’t know _exactly_ what she was doing to him. And then she’d pushed him off a roof, with absolutely no remorse. So. Fucking. _Hot_. While he’d usually never minded if his partners wanted to attempt taking control of their encounters, he was also usually the one in control because he knew what he liked and all they ended up doing was delaying the good parts. He’d considered himself a top, so the fact that some little mortal had been able to bring him to his knees the way she had, play him the way she had, it was both annoying and arousing in its extremes.

Beetlejuice had needed very little stimulation after that to bring about some self-satisfaction. And then again as he imagined being able to put her in her place, on her knees, smart mouth of hers otherwise occupied. It was morning before he was finally finished with himself. And while the usual breathers went about their own stupid little lives, Beetlejuice wandered around finding ways to entertain himself until he had a chance to speak to Lydia alone. She might have been less than trusting of him, but the Maitlands were a bad influence on her, and made her too wary.

She spent a good chunk of time planning things out with the Maitlands. And fucking Christ was this plan pathetic. Parlor tricks compared to what someone like him could do. And she really seemed to think it was going to work. Well, her overconfidence was sexy as hell at least, almost as sexy as the truly evil smile that graced her lips every time they went through the plan, Babs and Adam practicing the motions without using any of their power. And they really expected this to work? Please.

But, eventually, it was time to get ready. And since Adam and Barbara couldn’t be seen they had no real need to change their clothes. Beetlejuice doubted they even knew _how_. But Lydia was discarding clothes left and right and heading into her attached bathroom. Part of him was tempted to follow her in, the prospect of a little water infinitely more appealing with a show like that on display. But then again, that might put her off when her plan inevitably failed. And it would, he was absolutely certain of that. Lydia had put misguided faith in two schmucks who wouldn’t know a scare if it bit them in the ass, this would only prove to be hilarious in a pathetically comedic sort of way. Either way, she would have no choice, he knew her, far better than the Maitlands did. He may not have been able to play her like a fiddle, but he was able to get a good read on her. She was a kindred spirit, of the same clay, in other words, she understood him in a way no other had or even could. She might have been Edgar Allan Poe’s daughter to everyone else, but to him she was his ticket to everything he knew he’d ever wanted.

Beetlejuice settled himself in her mirror, on the other side of the glass. Just to let her feel like she had everything under control. Classic bait and switch, oldest trick in the book after all. Pity for him, Lydia came out in a tank top and shorts instead of the towels he’d been anticipating. Had she been anticipating his presence? Well, wasn’t that flattering? She went to her dresser and acted as though nothing was amiss, even though he knew she had to know he was there. There was no other reason for her so pointedly avoiding her mirror or acting like dressing in the closet was something she normally did. She came out in that stupid eyesore of a dress, too many ruffles and frills and layers. He hated layers, but liked tearing them apart. But here was where she changed directions, grabbing a small wad off the dresser top and sitting at her vanity where he lay waiting for her.

“Seems like you’re dressed to kill Babes,” he told her, the quip slipping from him as naturally as breathing, rather, as naturally as breathing was for any person who did it, “But uh… what’s with the ugly ass eyesore of an outfit? Since when are you into frills?”

“Oh, so you finally decided to speak up,” Lydia parried back as she worked on doing up her makeup. Something not as dark as her usual fare, she _did_ want to make her father believe she’d given in after all. Except she didn’t own anything pastel enough to go with this eyesore of an outfit. Lydia settled on some neutral jewel tones to bring out the natural color of her eyes, “And here I thought you were just going to be like one of those heavy breather phone calls, something you just ignore until they’re done being pervs.”

“Babes, if you’re waiting for me to be less horny, you’ll die of old age first,”

“At least if I died of old age I’d be safe then, wouldn’t I?” Lydia quipped.

“Nope, no you wouldn’t, just ask Katie Hepburn,” Beetlejuice snickered, “But’cha didn’t answer my question; what’s with the thing burning holes into my retinas?”

“All part of the plan,” Lydia assured him, “Delia picked it out for me, and Daddy wants the perfect daughter for tonight. I can do this much for him, can’t I?”

“You mean before you vainly attempt to make it all go to shit, right?”

“There is no ‘vainly’,” Lydia rolled her eyes at the demon in the mirror, “It’s gonna work… I know it is.”

“Say it once more,” Beetlejuice chuckled, “this time with feeling and then I might _actually_ believe ya,”

“Oh please,” Lydia scoffed, “You're just sore because I trust the Maitlands more than I trust you.”

“No,” Beetlejuice corrected, “I'm sore because you left me with blue balls after pushing me off a fucking roof. I'm _disappointed_ at your poor choice in supernatural entities for your own diabolical ends. There's a difference,”

“So you're jealous,” Lydia smirked, ignoring the blue balls comment entirely, “Well, I'd tell you to die mad about it but,” she shrugged, unwadding the ball and shaking out the garments. Thankfully they weren't too wrinkled.

“Well you-” he paused as he noticed what she was fiddling with, “What are those?”

“Stockings,” Lydia responded as she began rolling one up her leg, “Thought even _you_ would know that,”

“You're wearing stockings to a fucking business dinner?” Beetlejuice raised a brow, “What? You plan on screwing one of Daddy’s business associates in an attempt to screw him over? Hate to break it to ya but I seriously doubt that'll work.”

“Hmm,” Lydia hummed as she smoothed the hem of her stocking around her thigh, “Only you would think that was what I was planning on doing.”

“Well, considering I’m the only one you’ve been a fucking cocktease to so far, I’d say I’m accurate in my assessment.”

“Maybe,” Lydia allowed, “Or maybe you're such a sex starved pervert you made it too easy to bait you and anyone else would have done the same.”

“Touche Babes,” Beetlejuice told her, “Not that it matters, soon enough you’ll be begging for me, in more ways than one.”

“Oh really?” Lydia raised a brow at him, “Is that what you think?”

“Babycakes,” he juiced up a lit cigarette and let the smoke unfurl to the pane of the glass, temporarily obscuring her from him and him from her, “Your little plan might be as technically foolproof as scares can get. But it’s got one fatal flaw; the Maitlands. Ain’t. Scary.”

“You say that as if it’s supposed to be news to me,” Lydia parried, “I know they’re not scary. But a haunted house isn’t usually something that makes for a good selling point when trying to open up a gated community. No one my Dad would be selling to likes sharing their living space, especially not with the dead.”

“Even if there _are_ any other spirits hanging around this run down nothing of a town, most of ‘em are gonna be in the same boat as your precious replacements,” he told her, “Stuck shit outta luck up creek without a paddle. No normal breather’s gonna see ‘em. Even if you _do_ possess your dad, they don’t have the balls to anything that’ll send those dopes running for the hills, just you watch.”

“I’ll say it flat out, since you don’t seem to be taking the hint,” Lydia finished getting ready and stood, leaning on the vanity and providing Beetlejuice a good look down her bodice, “I can handle myself. I will be going back home by _myself_ , and I don’t need _you_ to help me do it.”

Beetlejuice chuckled, low and dark and it sent a tingle she adamantly refused to acknowledge existed down her spine, “Sure Babes, you’re a big bad bitch with a couple of real spooksters under her thumb.”

“Fuck you,”

“I mean… if you’re offerin’,” he gave her a crooked smirk, “Seriously though, you’re gonna change your mind,”

“No, I won’t,” Lydia told him, “Now get out of here, I have a dinner to attend,”

She stood and flounced away in the ugly dress. Beetlejuice merely smirked, “You an’ me both kid,” he said; and then he faded from the mirror’s view.

BJ BJ BJ

Charles was nervous. After everything that had happened with Lydia last night and the lack of an opportunity to talk to her today between her shutting herself up in her room and all the preparations naturally Charles was nervous. Lydia could be incredibly vindictive when she was upset, and it wouldn’t surprise him one bit if she decided to stay in her room and ruin the image of a happy nuclear family he was trying to project. Charles tried to stay optimistic, even as he rushed in from the dining area. The caterers were wheeling out a stuffed pig, which was going to be good. But not if that was the only thing on the menu.

“Where’s the shrimp?” Charles asked them. They looked surprised, as if they didn’t know. Good god he did _not_ need this tonight, “Get the shrimp! Maxie Deen loves shrimp!”

They ran off looking for the shrimp even as Charles heard the cars pulling into the driveway. He was panicking. This would be the first business proposal since… since everything had happened. And nothing could ruin it for him. Nothing except…. Well, he would keep his fingers crossed.

“He’s here!” Charles exclaimed, “Delia!” everyone needed to be in their places for when Maxie arrived. He heard heels click down the steps as Delia ran as fast as she was able to in her outfit.

“Charles,” she stopped on the landing and he got a good look at the dress. He didn’t exactly know what to say about it other than that it looked like it would come apart at the seams with one good tug in just the right place and now was also _not_ the time he should be having thoughts like this, “Does this dress say… mindfulness?”

He paused a moment to try and think over his words, which was hard to do when he was speechless, “My god woman,” he breathed, “We don’t have time to make screaming passionate love right now, but we will,” he promised her, “We will,”

The ring of the doorbell echoed in the space. It was time, and Lydia still hadn’t arrived. But he still asked where his daughter was. Delia informed him that Lydia had remained locked in her room all day and unfortunately, they were out of time. Charles sighed frantically as he checked his watch,

“Alright, we’ll just have to do this without her then,” they got into position, and then Charles opened the door.

Despite his age and appearance Maxie Deen had the personality of a man thirty years his junior. Maxie worked hard, played hard, and his acumen as a businessman brought him plenty of success in both. On his arm was a tall willowy woman who looked like she’d suffered from some botched Botox, but Maxie must have had her with him for a reason. He never went anywhere without a female companion of some kind.

“Chuck!” Maxie exclaimed, putting out his hand for the other businessman to shake as he walked in through the door. Never one to waste an opportunity Charles thanked his old partner for making it all the way out here and immediately began the tour,

“As you can see this is the model home for the projected gated community,” Charles rattled off some facts and figures about the decor, adding in, “I designed it to reflect wealth, elegance, sophistication, and above all-”

A chorus of greetings interrupted him and Charles looked and saw more people than he had honestly been anticipating for this dinner, “You brought your legal team tonight?”

Maxie lightly responded, “I’m rich Chuck, I never leave home without ‘em,”

He and his companion laughed at the joke as if it was the funniest thing in the world and then Maxie added, “Speaking of luggage, have you met my fourth wife, Maxine?”

And there it was. Maxie Deen. First class businessman and sleaze extraordinaire. But he was the one with the money, and one did what one had to do in this world to survive. The woman, Maxine, laughed outrageously as though she were both offended and amused,

“He is _so_ mean to me!” Maxine laughed, correcting her husband by saying, “I’m his _fifth_ wife,”

Well… what could one say to that? Charles tried to deflect the awkward tension by introducing Delia as his fiancee, but despite his warnings from earlier this morning she brought up her new age spiritualism by greeting them with a namaste, to which Maxine’s response was to name a dessert as though they were the same thing. Yeah, made sense. Maxie preferred sheen to substance, and wives one through four had also been prime examples of that.

“Don’t mind her,” Maxie told them, “My baby’s got a body that doesn’t quit and a brain that doesn’t work!”

And again, Maxine proved him right with that obnoxious, grating laugh of hers, “See? So mean!” or maybe she was smarter than she let on and was simply playing a part as she added, “But it’s true, I was kicked in the head by a dressage horse,”

“Oh,” Delia remarked, “I’m so sorry that happened,”

“Well,” Maxine shrugged, “I survived, the horse on the other hand…”

And yet again, awkward silence filled the air. What possible appropriate response is there to the implied statement that a dressage horse was killed because it kicked someone in the head? Charles couldn’t hold in his wince as he desperately tried to keep a handle on the evening,

“Ahem, why don’t we eat?” to which everyone heartily agreed. They sat around the table and settled in and that was when Maxie asked,

“Hey Chuck, didn’t you used to have a daughter or something?”

“Ah yes,” he’d been hoping Maxie wouldn’t remember, for more reasons than one, “Lydia, she um…” he scrambled for an explanation, “Well after everything that happened the transition has been a bit more difficult on her than we thought it would be. I’m afraid she won’t be joining us tonight,”

Lydia was waiting upstairs for a cue. And there was the most perfect one she could have asked for. So she let her voice ring out, in the softest sweetest, and most saccharine tone she could muster, “Father!”

Charles was shocked to hear Lydia calling for him. He thought she would remain locked in her room all night. And maybe he was hallucinating the call just now. But that didn’t seem to be the case, everyone else was looking in the direction too,

“Oh Father dear!” her voice rang out again, this time accompanied by hurried footsteps that would have implied she was coming downstairs, “Did I hear the dinner bell?” she asked as she stopped at the landing, dressed in cheery, sunshiney yellow with a smile to match.

“Lydia?” he couldn’t believe it. This was a fast turnaround. Almost too fast. But before he could really question it Delia was quick to claim credit. And maybe she was right, she’d helped him, why wasn’t it possible she’d also been helping Lydia? Even if neither of them realized it had been working.

“Life coaching! It’s not a fad, do the research!” Delia proclaimed as Lydia came down the last set of stairs.

“I’m so sorry I’m late everybody,” she apologized, “I was having a little trouble with this pretty, pretty dress Delia was kind enough to get me,” and for emphasis she did a little twirl.

“Y-your dress,” Charles exclaimed. He’d never imagined that even if her personality changed, her style would alter much. The more he thought back on it, Lydia had always preferred black and kept the color somewhere on her person. It had just been offset by all the colors Emily had brought into their lives and no! No dammit! He was not going to think about her at a time like this! This was about here, about now, about Lydia.

“Lydia darling,” Maxie greeted as she circled to table to face him properly as was her expected due, “What an effervescent young lady you are,” he praised, dropping a kiss on her hand, “Your father was trying to hide you from us, wasn’t he?” he asked her with a smile and a soft nudge as they took their seats, “What’s the matter Chuck?” his investor turned a charming, but mostly joking gaze on him, “Were you afraid I’d _marry_ her?”

It was a joke that didn’t feel like a joke and before he could really think it through Charles was behind Lydia, ready to separate and protect her even if it meant losing the money here. But Maxie laughed, and so did Maxine, though the latter was quick to point out,

“And he’ll do it too! He'll _do_ it,” her twisted face was sober and serious for a moment, which did a lot more damage than the look Maxie shot the both of them.

“Well…” Lydia’s smile was tighter and more uncomfortable as she quickly yanked her hand out of the other man’s grip, “This is surely going to be such an… _interesting_ night. Don’t you think?” she wanted to vomit, gross. Gross with a side of hurl please. But, now there was another benefit to ruining this dinner, and it was getting this creep out of the house. Beetlejuice might have been a sleaze, but at least he couldn’t do much harm while she still had him on tenterhooks. Lydia cleared her throat, “Ahem, you know, I think it would be just so wonderful if the… _newest_ member of our family made the toast,” she raised a glass and nodded to Delia, naming her in the process as she tapped the glass with a butter knife.

It was with barely concealed anticipation and excitement Lydia watched Delia make her way through an impromptu toast, only to have control of her body violently wrenched from her. Lydia had decided to add an artistic element to her little revenge scheme, one of her mother’s favorite songs. And, surprisingly enough, one of Adam’s too. So naturally it was that much easier to choreograph. But for now,

“What’s wrong Delia?” Lydia asked, false sympathy and concern lacing her tone, “Are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine!” Delia tried to assure them. It didn’t do much when she continued to have outbursts. And there was darling Dad, trying his best as always to control the situation and the damage. Playing it off like some sort of joke. Well the joke would be on you now Dad, this was what you deserved.

With the people around her dancing like puppets on strings Lydia took the opportunity to stand atop the table. Regal, commanding, reminding the Maitlands of the other elements of her plan even as she reminded her father of what she had tried to warn him about. The ghosts wanted him out, and Lydia was going to help them do that. Now he would have to see, he would have to throw in the towel and bring them back to New York, back to where Dead Mom was most assuredly waiting for them. And Lydia would apologize for letting Dad force them to abandon her, assure her mother it would never happen ever again.

But then, something unexpected happened. Despite the jerky clockwork movements, despite the shrimp cocktail turning into a terrifying abomination hand, and despite Delia getting ripped down into… frankly speaking underwear Lydia did _not_ want to know the woman owned, especially after now knowing the truth about her relationship with Lydia’s father; despite all of that, and her father’s grovelling as he apologized to Maxie, the reaction was not what she had hoped for. Because the investor’s response was,

“Shut up you moron don’t apologize! We’re gonna be rich!”

“What?” asked Charles, a question echoed by Lydia just a moment later.

Maxie explained that he’d never had any intentions to invest in the stupid gated community her father had planned. Which meant that this whole thing would have been a bust already if Lydia hadn’t intervened. Because a genuine haunted house, that was apparently where the money was. A goldmine Maxie called it. The image of the Maitlands being summoned forth night after night to do party tricks for cash they'd never see a dime of flashed through her head. And it was all because of her. Lydia could feel her hands ball into fists and begin to shake. They had to be kidding!

“No,” Lydia growled through clenched teeth. No, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to go like this! Her father was supposed to be running for the hills, running for New York, running for _home_ and the woman who had made it so! He wasn’t supposed to be jumping for joy like a child in a candy store while proclaiming to Delia that the Maitlands were going to make them rich. Her father didn’t even _know_ who these ghosts were! He didn't even know what they were _like_! She stood there on the table, at a loss for more than the first time since she had come to this house. Only now, she didn’t see where she could go next, “You’re supposed to be scared!”

Was she acting like a petulant child? Perhaps, but this outburst felt very much warranted and in some manner, long overdue. This was supposed to fix everything, and everyone’s problems. Instead it had doubled down on this house that didn’t feel like home, a father who was too selfish to see how much she was hurting inside, a so-called life coach who was more interested in helping herself to her father’s affection, money, and status than helping her charge like she was _supposed_ to, and ghosts who despite the fact that they would have made good parents given half a chance, couldn’t replace her mom. And here was Lydia, stuck somewhere in between it all, and more. Her father told her she was too old to be acting like a child, but continued to treat her like one regardless. She had no power, she had no way to leave, but she was done suffering in silence. And like a spark of divine inspiration sent from her mother, Lydia now knew what needed to be done.

The Maitlands were apologizing but she could barely hear them over the blood pounding in her ears. Blood rushing with anger and hurt and the desire to make her father hurt just as badly. Son of a bitch, she’d been wrong. She’d thought the novelty would be scary enough. But it wasn’t. But Lydia knew what would be. She knew what she needed to do. _Who_ she needed, just as much as he needed her. She was panting hard, air hissing through the gaps in her clenched teeth. But there was a sort of strange, detached, and almost psychotic clarity as she responded to them,

“There’s one thing that can still stop them,” her tone was many things, many emotions all at once. Anger, betrayal, desperation, solemnity, all rolled up into one terrifying statement. Like an executioner declaring the sentence for death, sharpening the blade and raising it aloft, waiting to let it swing.

“Lydia no,” Barbara shook her head, somehow knowing instinctively what the girl was thinking, “You don’t know what’ll happen. You don’t know what he’s capable of!”

Lydia was right. She didn’t know. But she was tired of not knowing, and she was more than willing to find out. To Barbara she tossed her hand out to the celebration in the room at the newly discovered money tree Maxie Deen and her father had found in the Maitlands, “I can’t keep living like this!” she told them, “And I can’t let them do this to you either. You heard what they said, you’ll be doing party tricks like this for the rest of eternity. Is that what you want?”

“Not if it means you opening yourself up to being hurt again!” Barbara cried out, “Lydia please-”

“No!” Lydia snapped at her, “I said, I can’t keep living like this!” Lydia turned her head, searching for him, she knew he was here somewhere. He had to be, all she had to do was call. So with the first swing she struck, “Beetlejuice!”

BJ BJ BJ

Beetlejuice had situated himself under the table. Why? Well, he was determined to see what Lydia’s little scareless squad had cooked up. And, to make sure she would call on him. He’d been more than prepared to do whatever was necessary to sabotage the plan and put desperate little Lydia right back in the palm of his hand. And, to have the best vantage point as to what else the little psychopath was hiding under that frilly little skirt she’d donned. But as it turned out, he didn’t even need to intervene. Just as he’d suspected, the Maitlands didn’t have the balls to do any major damage to anyone in this place. Which meant their acts of possession were little more than dime store parlor tricks. And that certainly wasn’t scary, which was quickly pronounced by the very victims they’d meant to scare.

Lydia’s precious little plan falling apart and backfiring seemed to be the breaking point. Because he could hear the desperation in her voice, the unspoken wish for someone to come along and make everything right for once. And well… he might not have been able to do that, but he could give her exactly what she wanted for now. And as for his price, well, they could negotiate that later.

“Beetlejuice!”

It was hard not to be smug as he got ready to heed her summons. A biting retort was on the tip of his tongue, but saying it might cause her to get into another round of wits which wouldn’t get either of them anywhere. Besides, his excitement was too great at her finally giving in. He phased through the table to stand atop it rubbing his hands together,

“Oh boy oh boy oh boy,” he grinned at her, “I’m so glad you changed your mind, you are _never_ gonna regret this,” he promised, uncaring of what was the truth and what was a lie, intentional or no.

“Beetlejuice,” Lydia said again, eyes dark and furious and absolutely gorgeous. He was ready to promise all sorts of things for that look of fury alone. She wanted daddy gone? He’d do it. She wanted bodies hidden or destroyed? He’d do it. She wanted the entire country of France under her control? Call up the army because he was ready to go a-conquerin’.

“We are gonna make such a good team,” he told her, meaning every word of it. Finally, someone he could work with, and they were almost there. Maybe he was pushing too hard, but then again maybe that was all her lingering hesitation needed, he looked at her frankly and said, “Give me just. _One_. _More_!”

Lydia looked to the crowd and snarled. A strangled sound he longed to make her repeat with the freedom to sound like a feral animal. But she gave it form, gave it purpose, gave it voice, “ _BEETLEJUICE_!”

And there it was. Thrice spoken, unbroken. His chains were shattered. He was free. And now that he was he knew exactly what time it was, “It’s _showtime_!” he declared sinisterly.

With barely a flick of his wrist he caused thunder to crash and the lights to go out. He heard the crazy redhead, whatever the fuck her name was, ask her darling sugar daddy what was happening. Not to worry lady, you’d get your answer soon enough. With all the pomp and circumstance of a sleazy carny man Beetlejuice brought up the lights to focus on him. He knew he was free, he knew that truth implicitly as he greeted everyone else in the room, but still he had to ask,

“Can everybody see me?”

A chorus of horrified screams in sweet resplendent melody was his reply. And good _god_ did it feel good to hear that sound. The sound of real fear, human terror. God it made him so fucking horny, he couldn’t resist a little self stimulation as he soaked it all in. The sound alone had been enough to raise his libido, at this point all he was doing was feeding it.

“God I missed that sound,” his declaration was breathy and perverted. But Lydia couldn’t blame him. For only six months she’d been invisible to everyone. She couldn’t imagine enduring it for millennia. But now? Now she was determined to be seen, even if it meant upstaging him. But Beetlejuice didn’t seem to mind, gladly stepping back as she stalked toward her father, his smile admiring even as he bounced on his feet with restless energy. Restless, pent up, demonic energy that she couldn’t wait to turn loose.

Lydia could see the horror and confusion on her father’s face as the demon demurred to his powerless teenage daughter. She couldn’t help the sadistic and downright evil smirk that curled her lips as she looked at him, “What’s wrong Father?” she asked in that saccharine tone from earlier, “You look like you’ve seen a _ghost_.”

“Lydia,” Charles panted, frozen with fear but terrified of and for his daughter, “get over here now, before you get hurt!”

“Hurt?” Lydia shook her head slowly, like he just wasn't understanding, “You know, I don’t think _I’m_ the one who needs to worry about getting hurt,”

“Lydia what’s going on? _Why_ are you doing this?” Charles asked, still not understanding what could have provoked her in such a manner.

“You didn’t listen Dad,” Lydia’s voice was as cold as ice, a thousand words unsaid lingering within it. “Now, this is what you get,”

“Yeah Dad,” Beetlejuice added, “This is what you get!” and with a snap he made part of the chandelier explode. The guests screamed, Lydia didn’t even flinch. He could have sworn she was tailor made for him. But then Barbara the Buzzkill had to chime in,

“Stop it! You’ve made your point!” he could see her aim was to separate Lydia from him. Yeah, not gonna happen. With another snap the pig was under his control, and it was now brandishing a knife. And just like the newbie ghost she was, Barbara began running as she forgot that with no physical body, she couldn’t be harmed. Adam chased after her, and now, with the safety police all taken care of, the real fun could begin.

He was a showman, and he loved demonstrating what an affront to nature he could be. As Lydia sat down to enjoy the show, he conjured up all sorts of scares. Giant hands reaching for people, bugs and other vermin that scattered and scuttled across the floor around the feet of the guests; hell, just for funsies he manifested himself into a giant and powerful snake. As he slipped through the frenzy he grabbed ahold of Chuck’s ankle. And he couldn’t resist,

“I’ve come for your daughter, Chuck,” Beetlejuice hissed at the other man as he used his rattling tail to smack the haggard father further away from his precious princess. And soon enough, Lydia would be coming for him.

With that promise firmly made, Beetlejuice had decided he’d had enough fun with these losers and that it was time they leave, _pronto_. So, he had them chased out the doors, slamming it in Chuck’s face when he reached out fruitlessly for a child who didn’t want him anymore. Lydia herself was too busy laughing. It was the happiest he’d seen her since they’d met. Dusting off his jacket, rolling the kinks out of his neck, and juicing up a cigarette to take a drag off it Beetlejuice let out a sigh. Ah, nothing like a good scare to get the old juices flowing.

Lydia rose from her seat, slightly awestruck at just how much he’d managed to accomplish. And the little fallen angel hadn’t seen nothin’ yet. When she spoke, her voice was just as soft, and just as incredulous,

“I don’t believe it,” her tone was hopeful, excited even. She stood so close to him, close enough to touch as she added, “He, he’s really _gone_ ,”

Beetlejuice took another drag off the cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke, “Oh yeah,” he answered, placing the light in her mouth. Might as well get her started on the first of several thousand vices, no time like the present after all, “It’s our house now baby,”

And with one last snap of his fingers, he decided to make sure any fool who dared enter would know that too. Black covered the walls and white slithered across the inky well of darkness, settling into the molding and taking over that horrible decor what’s her name had picked out until nothing was left but black and white stripes. Lydia turned and watched the changes settle into place, seemingly unfazed by the fact that the cancer stick in her mouth had just been in his. She turned back to him and took it out between her fingers, letting out an exhale that spoke of more experience with it than she’d let on. Ah, not so innocent after all then, huh?

“ _Whoa_ ,” she told him, tone a million hopeful things all at once.

He looked at her, tone singsong as he informed her of the obvious, “Looks like we’re not invisible anymore!”

And as he snaked a hand over her shoulder and tugged her in close, he knew for a fact; that it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


	7. Intermission- The Serpent and the Striped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Valentine's Day my Netherlings! Sorry, pulled a priority on that other fic to get it published in time. So here we are, hope you like it anyways.

This was it. The house was theirs. True, the Maitlands were still here, but they’d run off to the attic and they could stay there until he decided to get rid of them. He had far more pressing matters to attend to, like Lydia. Cool and confident little Lydia, finishing off his cigarette like a goddamn pro. Her smile though, her smile was wan. Eyes far away. And again he was hit by the niggling sensation he’d seen her before. Lydia ashed out the nicotine stick right on the tabletop and stood from her chair. The air around them was static, electric, but to be honest he didn’t exactly know where to go from here. He knew where he _wanted_ it to go. But Lydia thought she was running the show and hell, he was out, he could play the pet demon for now. Not like he didn’t have enough time on his hands anyways.

Beetlejuice fiddled with his lapels and dusted off his jacket. He wanted to say something, wanted to be suave, and smooth, and seductive. But he also remembered how that had all gone down the last time he’d tried it with her. She was too smart to be fooled by cheap parlor tricks, which meant cheesy pick up lines weren’t exactly something he could use either. Or was this another game of wits, a test to see who would break first?

“So…” Lydia began, and he wasn’t sure if that meant she’d won or lost, “The snake thing,”

“Like it?” Beetlejuice raised a brow at her, “Learned that from an old indian demon.”

“Are you immune to snake charming music then?” Lydia asked, walking back over to him, “If we put some on right now would you start dancing?”

“I’m not turning back into a snake at the moment, so I guess we won’t be finding out,” Beetlejuice responded, “‘Sides, snake or no, I don’t dance ‘nless I got a partner.”

“Oh come on,” Lydia batted her eyes at him, “Please? It was so cool the way you used it to scare the shit out of my dad, can’t I see it a little more clearly now?”

Damn those big doe eyes of hers. He found it hard to resist when she looked at him with such innocent earnestness. Fuck, he wasn’t going soft for some mortal chick was he? Nah, she’d done him a solid, he could hang around and entertain her a little longer. With a sigh he rolled his shoulders back, slowly feeling the magic morph and shift his bones. The thing with shapeshifting was that nothing really changed, magic could allow you to grow extra limbs, and tear off your own with full control over them, but it wasn’t like your body became some sort of gelatinous nothing when you shifted your form. The striped suit fell away to shimmering striped scales, arms and legs fell away to lengthen his torso until that’s all he was, his already reptilian eyes slitted further, and he grinned at her with rows upon rows of sharp, jagged teeth. Beetlejuice heard Lydia’s breath hitch as she watched the transformation as though it were occurring in slow motion. Was she really so easily impressed? Wait, no, he knew the answer to that question, she’d hung around with the Maitlands after all.

Beetlejuice slithered towards her, curling his tail around her feet and conversationally asked, “Ssso Babess, ssscared?”

“You wish,” Lydia smirked at him. And she was right. He could smell excitement, anticipation, but no fear. Well, he’d just have to change all of that wouldn’t he? He slithered around her, slowly winding his serpentine body around her own. Not too tight, not yet. But the implied threat was very much present in that moment. He brought his face over to look at her again, with no visual reaction he leaned in and whispered, “How ‘bout now?”

“When I can still breathe?” Lydia asked, a challenge if ever he heard one, “I think not.”

It was unspoken permission. He wanted to scare her, she wanted to prove she couldn’t be scared. His muscles began to contract, and damn him he could feel every curve and contour of her body as he coiled and constricted around her. Lydia kept her breathing even, shallowing out when it became harder to take deeper breaths, but never panicking. Clever girl. She knew panicking made it worse. So he squeezed tighter. A gasp escaped her, but not of fear, of being in the middle of a breath when he struck. Tighter, tighter, he knew if he wanted to he could break her spine, but he didn’t. Lydia was worth so much, but she was worth more alive. When the gasping breaths began to cut he remembered that breathing was important and if too much oxygen got cut off they would pass out, or even die. He didn’t want to kill her, not like this anyways. So immediately the coils of snake flesh fell away and Lydia was falling into his arms, breathing heavily as air was allowed in greater amounts into her lungs. Her head lolled as he braced himself with one knee on the floor. But she was still breathing, still alive for now. Fuck.

“Babes, y’okay?” he asked, suddenly worried. This little firecracker of a girl had been the one to set him free, and damned if he was gonna feel guilty for an accident. He didn’t do guilt, but here it was bubbling up at the thought that he could have very easily done her in. He’d told her death wasn’t the answer to her life’s pathetic little problems, and he’d meant it. One of the very few things he'd ever been honest about in his entire existence. Small consolation though, at least if he'd killed her she wouldn't have to serve under Juno and the other stiffs on the Bureau of No Fun Allowed.

“I feel…” she panted, “A little… dizzy,” her eyes cracked open only to squeeze shut as she tried to focus on evening out her air intake and set her heart rate back to normal. He could hear it fluttering away within her rib cage, practically feel it from where a hand supported her at her back. It was then he noticed dark circles sinking themselves under her eyes. Oh yeah, sleep. Breathers needed sleep too didn’t they? And he doubted she’d had much of it planning her revenge. It had already been well after midnight when he’d met her on the roof. Rest would do her good. Yeah, it had to. He didn’t know much about being alive, but he’d been watching long enough to pick up a few things here and there.

“C’mon kid,” he said as he scooped her up in his arms. Damn, she was light, was she missing any parts inside? Did Breathers even _have_ parts they could be missing when they were alive? “Let’s getcha to bed, ya’ve had a long day.”

“Why…” Lydia struggled for coherence and ended up skipping over some words in the process, “Be… so’nice t’me?”

He assumed the question was, “Why are you being so nice to me?” to which his immediate reaction was a retch of disgust since he didn’t do _nice_. But to which his actual answer was, “You let me out, ‘t’s the least I can do. Now, can you change yourself, or would you prefer magic?”

“M’gic,” Lydia slurred, already falling asleep as he got to her room and laid her down on her bed, “‘jamas… under m’pillow,”

With a snap of his fingers, the faded clothes wormed their way out from their prison and into his hands. With another snap, they were replaced by the dress, and her underwear, and the pajamas hung off her petite form. As he tossed the clothes to the side, Lydia curled up on her side and promptly fell into the realm of unconsciousness. Beetlejuice didn’t know what to do with himself. No one he’d ever hung around had trusted him enough to fall asleep with him in the same room. Well, no one aware of his presence at least. And that was probably a smart move on their parts; he was a hellion even in chains, and now that he had none? There was temptation there. He could seduce her in her sleep, she’d never see it coming, not until she was. He’d make her scream his name just as she had earlier, but with a completely different context. And yet, he didn’t want to. Not yet. Lydia wasn’t the average Breather, and he wanted to relish every second of victory he had over her.

That all being said, it left a lot of time on his hands at the moment. The people to scare were all gone, Lydia was asleep and he would let her for now, so what did that leave for him? Well, he had been pretty worked over from making all those people scream. And fuck it, she was asleep, might as well take advantage of the sanctity of her room and abuse the small measure trust she’d placed in him in letting him into her room, and be with her there. Without any adult supervision. He sat down with his back braced against the side of her bed, and loosened his tie. With barely a thought, his magic unhitched his belt with a soft clank of the buckle, loosening the strain against the already tented fabric. If he’d been less anxious he might have raided her panty drawer and found something to help the process along, but as it was all he needed was a hand, or two. He yanked down the zipper on his pants and out sprang the evidence of his arousal. It felt all the hotter, doing this in the mortal girl he was shacking up with’s room, with her in it, asleep on her bed and completely unaware of the fodder she’d be providing for this little solo excursion.

He imagined what he'd like to do to her. How he'd like to crawl over her and begin undressing her, taking his time because the best part of a gift was the unwrapping. She'd still be asleep as he laved against her skin, savoring just how warm and alive she was compared to the constant deathly chill that accompanied beings like him. Listen to the even beat of her heart begin to pick up as he lavished all the attention he could on her alabaster skin. At some point, she would wake, likely when his face was already between her legs but by then she would be too far gone with pleasure to care. Her hands would wind themselves in his hair as her voice would turn molten and sweet, crying more, more, _more_ Beetlejuice! And then he’d finish her off for round one, taking the time with her in a fog of pleasure so intense it nearly knocked her back out to divest himself of his clothes. As much as he’d want to see Lydia’s smart mouth put to good use, making her scream with ecstasy would be a nice close second to what he actually wanted to do. He was jolted out of his fantasy for a split second by the grip he had around his cock. He was damn near close to just tearing it off his body. Wouldn’t that give a whole new meaning to the phrase jerking off?

Beetlejuice sucked in a breath through his teeth, eyes shooting over to the girl on the bed. He watched as she stretched a moment, wondering if she was waking up even as his hand began to move in earnest as the arching of her back caused the shirt to rise and expose her midriff before she sunk back down and rolled over, still firmly unconscious and unaware. With a twitch of his fingers, her shirt rode up further, until it was just exposing the underside of her breasts. He may have been a pervert, but he wasn’t an idiot, if she was topless, she’d get cold, and if she got cold, she’d wake up. This view would be enough to help him finish. He had an active imagination that could readily fill in the blanks. The Lydia in his mind was yelping, shrieking, making sounds that might have made any third party listening in think she was being murdered. And she would be dying, but only a little. Faster and faster he imagined surging into her, as she clenched tighter and tighter around him gasping and clawing at him. And then he'd make her tell him who was making her feel like this, he’d make her say his name. Not three times in a row, naturally, but she’d be screaming it to the rafters and then he’d make her see. See…

Realization came to him just as he came. He sat there slumped against the side of the bed as Lydia slept on unaware, panting for more reasons than one. That girl. The one from the graveyard what felt like forever ago. The one who wanted nothing more than to be seen. Beetlejuice ran a sticky hand though his rat’s nest of hair. She had been the catalyst for this whole plan. The procession that had led him to the girl, who led him to the man that had the phone call that had led him to the Maitlands. Lydia had brought him here. Lydia had set him free. Lydia was the reason for it all. And all she wanted in return, was to be seen. Well, he would make sure she knew just how seen she was. Still, something niggled him, something about that grave, something about that funeral, something, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Oh well, it didn’t matter. He had eternity to figure it out, eternity with the hottest girl he’d ever met, one who understood him, who got him, who wasn’t afraid of him. His balls may have been blue at the moment… okay not right at this current moment, but he had plenty of time to work it over so this wasn’t a situation he’d have to repeat for a long, long time. Lydia would see, just like she wanted to be seen.

Beetlejuice tucked himself away and wiped off his hands. Then he looked over at Lydia’s prone form, a single lock of her hair having fallen into her face. With a touch so gentle he didn’t recognize it coming from himself he reached over and brushed it away, letting his fingers linger over the soft curve of her cheek.

“Don’t you worry baby,” he promised her, “We’re just getting started, you ‘n me. All this, this was only the beginning.”

BJ BJ BJ

Lydia woke the next morning feeling… strange. Lighter in a way, as though everything that had been keeping her chained down was gone. Well, not everything. There was still the grief and longing for her mother. But… baby steps, baby steps. Most of the major problems were gone. Her father, Delia, the investors that had threatened her chances of going back to New York and the Maitlands’ more peaceful existence after death. She should probably apologize to them some time today. She’d really thought she hadn’t needed him, that they could do it by themselves. And they’d almost paid the price for her arrogance. Some people just weren’t meant to be scary, even if they were ghosts.

She yawned and stretched and immediately noticed something she’d been too exhausted to the night before. That damn stripey bastard had divested her of all her undergarments when snapping her into her pajamas. Fuck, she was probably out a pair of panties now wasn’t she? Lydia rolled over fully prepared to be pissed off at the pervert she’d unleashed into the world, and that was when she found him asleep at the side of her bed. Had he stayed with her here the entire rest of the night? More importantly, had he seriously done so without attempting to wiggle his way into her bed? Lydia felt strangely flattered as she considered it. Adam and Barbara had told her a little about the demon when she worked out her plan with them. Apparently it hadn’t taken the man more than two seconds to sexually harass anyone who could see him. And yet, yet he hadn’t. Here she had made quite possibly a grave mistake and he had done nothing to her. Well, nothing up until she found out he’d likely squirreled away her panties for his own use later. She further observed him, he was laying with his back braced up against the side of the bed, head lolling back, and mouth slack open as he snored. It was gross, disgusting, and yet oddly endearing too. He was… dare she say it? Kind of cute, in the same sort of sense one might find a particularly ugly animal cute. Like… like a blobfish brought up from the deep, that kind of cute. Lydia giggled quietly to herself at the thought.

“Do I have something on my face or what Babes?” Beetlejuice’s voice broke her out of her mirth. How had he-?

“Do you actually sleep, or was that a ploy to make me let my guard down?” Lydia raised a brow at him.

“Do I need sleep? Nah, no one who’s dead does,” Beetlejuice replied, “But, have to admit, been a while since I was able to let loose like that, mighta gone a little harder than necessary,”

“Considering the way you reacted to them screaming, I’d say you definitely did,” Lydia couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corners of her lips, “So… what’s the plan for today?”

“You tell me kid,” Beetlejuice shrugged, raising his head and working the kinks out of his neck, “Your house, your rules. Now me personally, I don’t like any but-”

“No rules sounds perfect right about now,” Lydia sighed. No rules, regulations, no telling her what she should do or god forbid _feel_ , “But what else?”

“Well… wanna make s’more people scream?” Beetlejuice sent her an evil grin, “Helluva lotta fun last night was, wasn’t it?”

“Hmm,” Lydia hummed, pretending to think it over, “I think you may be onto something there. Just let me get dressed first,” when she rose from the bed she noticed that while he stood along with her, he made absolutely no move to leave the room, “Ahem, you can leave now.”

“Could,” he acknowledged, “Dun wanna though.”

“Well you’re gonna have to,” Lydia shot him a coy smile, “We’re not there yet buddy. Haven’t you ever heard, ‘patience is a virtue’?”

“Yeah, and virtue is for saints, not sinners Baby,” he parried, folding his arms and raising a challenging brow at her, “‘Sides, modesty is for chicken shits, you tellin’ me you’re chicken shit Lydia?”

“Alright,” Lydia shrugged, “Just remember if you touch me you lose,”

“And if I touch myself instead?”

“You also lose,” Lydia smiled cruelly, “specifically, you lose that privilege for the rest of the day. And now I’m bound and determined to make some country hicks scream.”

“Ah.. well, see…” he began to backpedal, “Let’s not go around making any hasty decisions here Lydia, y’really wanna give an ultra powerful demon blue balls when there’s no one around to-”

His half-hearted threat was murdered when she shrugged out of her pants and lifted her shirt over her head. And here he had to stand, with a hot naked goth lackadaisically meandering about her room, and he couldn’t do anything about it. Well, yes, he could. But this was a matter of pride. If he couldn’t resist for the few moments it would take her to get dressed, he’d lose all pride as a demon. Demons were the ones who tempted humans to sin. It most certainly did _not_ work the other way round. He didn’t care if his reputation as a very lustful and sexual being was at stake, his pride as a demon was his main concern. Little bitch thought she could fucking wander around naked like this and get away with it? … Well she _could_ , and he would very much vastly prefer if she did, so long as he could take every advantage from it. Then again… he thought, almost jealously, while answering the door naked might make for a good scare the first time, you really didn’t get to toy with your victims that way. And also, he just plain didn’t wanna share this view with anyone else just yet. He was selfish, he could admit that with no shame.

Lydia took her time finding all the clothes she wanted to wear that day. All the while, she could feel Beetlejuice’s eyes riveted to her form. As vulnerable and exposed as she knew it made her, there was also a keen sense of power. Lustful creature or no, Beetlejuice had already admitted he’d be touching himself right now if she'd let him. Touching himself to her, as disgusting as the thought was, it was also incredibly flattering. Beetlejuice might have been dead, and gross, and probably decaying, but least he was no Maxie Deen. She barely suppressed a shudder remembering last night, remembering the way those smarmy lips had felt against the skin of her hand. She'd surreptitiously wiped it off as soon as possible on the folds of the dress she would likely burn sometime later today. Where had she been going with this train of thought again? Ah yes, Beetlejuice. Point was, if she had to risk her body for a little power, Beetlejuice was definitely not the worst she could do by any sense of the word.

She found that once she had gotten dressed Beetlejuice had closed his eyes at some point. Well, she supposed that was allowed, she hadn’t specifically told him he couldn’t look at any rate, or that he would lose if he looked away. But, she didn’t have to tell him he’d won either. So she snuck out of the room, and headed for some breakfast. At the very least, she was thankful the move and the dinner had forced her father to buy groceries for a couple days. Hmm… she mused on it as she decided what she wanted to make. Sure, it would be easy to just order something, but delivery driver scaring could be saved for later in the day.

“Were you planning on telling me you got dressed or expecting me to hold back thinking you were wandering around the house naked all day?” Beetlejuice instantly appeared at her side, leaning against the counter with his arms folded, “I mean, if that’s what you wanna do then go for it but-”

“Nice try,” Lydia rolled her eyes, “If I went around naked all day you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me, or yourself,”

“Least you wouldn’t be missing out on anything,” Beetlejuice snorted, “Might actually help.”

“Right,” Lydia drawled, unconvinced, “Well, hate to break this to you but Necrophilia isn’t exactly my thing,”

“Honey, to have a dead body, you have to be alive first,” Beetlejuice reminded her, “I was born dead, so to speak, I ain’t got no body like you’re thinkin’.”

“Semantics aside,” Lydia countered, “What makes you think I would possibly interested in anything you’d have to offer?”

“You sure as hell wanted me last night,” he said smugly, daring her to find a counterargument. And could she? She’d wanted him to get rid of everyone, to make the constant pain stop for even a few moments. And he had.

“Wanting you to do me a favor in exchange for your freedom hardly constitutes wanting you specifically,” she deflected instead, settling on some eggs.

“That’s what Katie Hepburn said, and yet,” Beetlejuice countered, practically singsong.

Lydia scoffed, “Right, and you’re also a liar. Why would I believe you saying you fucked some dead celebrity few people alive care about anymore?”

“Oh, so you want celebrities people care about do ya?” Beetlejuice arched a brow, “Well, in recent years I also fucked plenty of other celebrities. Does the name Whitney Houston ring a bell? No? How about Amy Winehouse? Freddie Mercury? C’mon, work with me here,”

Lydia was shaking her head, more in amusement than anything, when that last name caught her attention, “Wait, you’re telling me you fucked Freddie Mercury? The King of Queen?” she snorted, “No way, I don’t believe it.”

“You better believe it baby,” Beetlejuice said smugly, “He was new and lonely, I was drunk, it was a whole thing.” from his jacket pocket he pulled out a small autograph book and flipped to a certain page, “See, right there,”

He was pointing to a specific page which contained something that did look like Mercury’s signature, along with the message, “Thanks for a wild night,” and a small heart.

“Impressive,” Lydia deadpanned, “Didn’t know I could be disgusted out of nagging hunger,”

“Oh please, you know you want some of this,” he teased, gesturing to himself, “Don’t deny it,”

She could have argued that there was no way she would ever consider having sex with him, especially not after the news that he was a giant slut and very proud of it. But in a way, it was refreshing to be talked to like that. Like she was someone who could handle it instead of a child who needed to be coddled and protected at all costs. Between that and the way she’d found him asleep at her bedside today, making sure she was okay, taking care of her the way he had in so many ways last night… she was feeling conflicted. He was a demon, he was gross, but he had her back, treated her differently than everyone else. Both in his actions and their own. Everyone, the Maitlands included, treated her like a child. Beetlejuice treated her like an equal.

So instead, all she said was, “Would you listen even if I did?”

He chuckled, “Nah, prob’ly not,”

Lydia rolled her eyes bemusedly as she continued to search for sustenance, “Think I’ll save myself the breath then,”

BJ BJ BJ

Their first mark was the landscaper her father had hired to help transform the exterior of the house. Lydia could only imagine what plans he’d been consulted on. Now that she knew her life coach had likely been influencing her father, it was probably all zen gardens and yoga patios. Blech. They had fun bringing him in, luring him into the shadows only to scare him off with a huge man eating plant. Several others followed, each of them scared off by something else. Scaring people was fun, an entertaining way to pass the time between watching old horror movies. A fun way to flex her creativity. And a way to make her feel like everything was somewhat normal again. Lydia remembered the times her mother had pulled all sorts of pranks, of how she’d promised to show Lydia the ropes when she got a little older, of how Dead Mom had never found scaring people a social faux pas like all the other parents did. Lydia wished there was some way to bring her mother back to her, but so far… nothing doing. So, the best she could do was make the woman proud, working through her grief with tricks that became darker and more twisted as Beetlejuice only encouraged that darker, less human part of her to work through cathartic rage and sadistic torment. With nothing but praise and a high five or a pat on the head and ruffling of her hair that warmed her in ways it shouldn’t have. It bore the elements of platonic intimacy, but felt like precursor to more. So much more.

And as for the demon in question, he was floored. Never would he in a million years have thought he’d ever meet someone who’d understand him so perfectly, so effortlessly as Lydia. She knew what it meant to be unseen, knew what it meant to be invisible, and knew what it meant to make the world pay for its insolence in such manners. Every dark demented thought for scaring the literal crap out of someone was pure poetry in motion. She was a puppet master in training, and she did so naturally. It was hot as hell, and combined with all the wonderful sounds of screaming -god wasn’t it wonderful this house was on a hill on the edge of town where the screams didn’t reach back to most everyone else’s ears?- and he was ready to fuck her into next week. But, it was more than just lust. Lust was easy, lust was the thing that drove several of his last encounters, seeking nothing more than mindless pleasure between the legs of another. Lydia was something different, someone different. And out of what normal people might call respect he refused to seduce her until she gave him some indication she wanted to be seduced. He tried to keep it casual, praising her for an especially nasty and creative prank, a hand on her head, her shoulder, nothing that could be construed as wanting sex from her. Lydia deserved better than anyone else he’d ever met, because she was better, in absolutely every way.

Of course, this made for a few awkward situations later on. The first day passed in blissful harmony, the ability to ignore the elephant in the room and pretend it didn’t exist at all was easy when one was still getting used to another person. And then, so did most of the second. But between the morning of the first and the late afternoon something began to shift. The tension between them was already simmering and ready to come to a boiling point. Every scare, every scream, every fright, all of it made them both more physically aware of one another, of just how much they had in common, of just how fun it was to simply be together; no rules, no responsibilities, no nagging voices of moral conscience since the Maitlands were far too scared to try and stop them. But the shenanigans, oh the awkward situations these shenanigans wrought. The kind of situations one only saw in romantic comedies. The random bumping into one another while not paying attention and instead of just stepping back, the placement of the hands upon the other person to physically put space between them, the reaching for something at the same time resulting in an awkward hand touch causing both of them to flinch and pull back, with Lydia feeling her cheeks begin to flush. And the piece de resistance, when she’d been in conversation with Beetlejuice only to get distracted by how excited and animated he was; hands moving wildly, eyes aflame, and striped tongue sweeping out over his lips, to the point where Lydia had to be pulled back to reality by his repeated questioning and statement of her name. And that was when she had hurriedly left him alone for the evening. She retreated to her room, embarrassed by her own actions. What the hell was wrong with her? Seriously, what the hell was going on here? One look at herself in the mirror had her ready to implode. There was a glow to her, her cheeks were red, she looked disheveled, her heart was pounding, and all she’d been doing was hanging around with and thinking about… Oh. Oh _no_. No, no, no. she was not getting a crush on _him_ of all people. That was ludicrous, absolutely _ridiculous_. Sure, he’d helped her out of a jam; sure, he got her in a way no one except her mother ever had; sure, he may have been gross but there was some sort of attractive quality to him that made even the grime and moss in his appearance seem handsome, and sure; she may have had the occasional fantasy of rocking a coffin with some faceless partner. But _Beetlejuice_ of all people?

The beating of her heart was now muted, drowned out by the pulse like throbbing somewhere else in her body. But at this, Lydia began to calm down. Oh, attraction, lust, that was all it was. She was attracted to the bad boy who’d gotten rid of Daddy and all her other problems. She was attracted to the uncaring asshole who looked like he knew a thing or two about sex, about how it could be rough and dirty and depraved, and how she’d been wanting that. And oh, she realized as some poor sap’s scream echoed through the walls and she felt a clenching deep within her body, she was just as kinky as the demon was and somehow the thought of scaring someone was enough for her to want to get her rocks off.

Lydia shucked her clothes and laid down on her bed, only her black lacy panties remaining on her body. She didn’t know why, some false sense of modesty? Some slight scrap of protection should the demon decide to interrupt with his impeccable sense of timing? Did it matter anyways, she didn’t even know if she’d stop if he did. She was clearly suffering from some sexual frustration and that was what was causing the weird tension. Maybe if she just took care of it everything would be alright. Her fingers slid against her outer lips, already slick with dew. Lydia had to assume it was due to all the scaring and sexual talk Beej had been bringing up at every given opportunity. Didn't matter, she was probably overdue for some self care anyways. Sure, she'd experimented here and there before, trying to figure things out when they'd started changing. But she'd never sought self-satisfaction. Not purposefully, wet dreams weren't exactly going out looking for orgasms, just a simple side effect.

She tried to think of someone else, anyone else to serve the mental image she was creating in her head. And yet, all she could think of was the frantic fear that her demonic roommate might burst in unannounced and catch her in the act. Whatever he would be saying would die on his lips as he fully realized what she was doing. And then, then she’d see the sadistic smirk stretch across his face. Lydia didn’t know how she would react, other than being frozen, possibly in mortification at getting caught. Oh, but he wouldn’t let her go just like that. No, that smirk would stretch across his face and then he’d stuff his hands in his pockets, looking her up and down like she was something tasty.

“ _Oh babes_ ,” he’d say, his voice attempting to sound like sandpaper and velvet and turning her on further, “ _‘F ya needed a hand, all ya had to do was ask_ ,”

With the speed of a blink he’d be atop her, moving her hands and replacing them with his own. The frigid digits wouldn’t waste any time being gentle. They’d dive right in, sliding against her inner walls while the other hand caressed her heated flesh, tugging at her nipples and leaving score marks on her skin. Angry red lines that spoke to how alive she was. Meanwhile the fingers inside her would feel as cold as ice when compared to the heat she was generating. They’d move, stretching her out and causing the lewdest noises to escape her throat. And all the while, he’d be looking down on her all smug and dominant.

“ _Yeah, ya like that Baby_?” he’d lean down, whisper-growling into her ears, “ _C’mon, tell me who’s doin’ this to ya. Tell me who’s fuckin’ you right now_.”

“Mmph!” Lydia groaned against tightly pressed together lips, hips canting against the invasive fingers.

“ _Say my name Lydia_ ,” he'd order, more dominating than she'd yet seen him aside from the scares, fingers working faster and faster, “ _Say it_!”

“Be-” Lydia only just barely managed to break from the haze of the fantasy, remembering to clap a hand over her mouth to keep the sound from escaping. One slick glide of her fingers and it was all over, pleasure hit her in unrelenting waves and she shuddered.

When she woke from the haze she realized just what she had done. She’d gotten off, to thoughts of Beetlejuice. Lydia had never really been bothered by the idea that she may have been a freak. Not until now. She’d gotten off to the idea of having sex with a perverted undead demon. And she’d _liked_ it. Lydia hopped out of bed and ran for her shower, turning the water up as hot and high as it would go and trying to scrub away the shame of what she’d done to herself while thinking of him. She tried to rationalize, he was practically her best friend at the moment, the only one she’d allowed herself to get so close to. Yeah, he was disgusting, but that in itself was attractive. It was the disgust of death, of a walking talking paradox. The living dead, and it appealed to her. Well, she worked through it logically, people had fantasies about the ones they were close to all the time. It didn’t mean anything. And now that she’d indulged it, she could continue on as they had been with only a modicum of embarrassed shame. It wasn’t as if he’d tease her, or be disgusted by it, odds were he’d probably already used her as imagery from all the pent up energy those screams. Beetlejuice only encouraged the strange, unusual, and perverse in her. Which, thinking on it completely… not always the best way to go about it. Lydia tried to think of Dead Mom, desperately seeking the other woman’s advice. What might she have to say about all this? She remembered her mother had always said to be unapologetic about what one was interested in, and be willing to try anything once. So… what was the lesson here? Had that been her once? Could she consider it so? Would that mean things were back to normal?

Lydia pondered this question more and more as she retrieved another black dress and reapplied her makeup, not even noticing how much care she took with the presentation of her appearance. Or that she’d chosen the good bra. The one that emphasized her meager chest, the one with the matching thong. Or the tights she’d chosen, like lacy fishnets that would split easily given even the slightest tug of resistance. She wandered down the stairs, intent on ignoring any lingering feelings of societal guilt that had been pounded into her head about using one’s friends for fantasy material.

“Hey Babes,” Beetlejuice greeted from his spot lounging on the misshapen couch, “What’s the plan for your dinner or whatever tonight? I’m down for anything so long as we scare the crap outta the delivery driver.”

Fuck. The images in her head were apparently not going to let her live her actions down. Because now what she wanted to do was clamber atop him and say fuck dinner, I have something else in mind. And lose herself with him right then and there, and god help the Maitlands if they decided to come down and discover them. Lydia was sure she wouldn’t even care about putting on a show at that point. Welp, clearly taking care of herself hadn’t taken care of the problem. Which meant the problem wasn’t so simple as she’d made it out to be. Dammit. She could feel her pulse begin to speed up as she tried to think of a response that didn’t involve some variation of the old cliche, “I’d rather eat you first,”

“Uh… Lydia?” he questioned, sitting up and waving a hand in front of her face, “Y’okay kid?”

Okay? She was so far from okay she practically _was_ okay in some screwy perception of the situation. Instead she merely licked her lips and replied, “Y-yeah, just trying to think of what sounds good right about now…” she paused for a moment and remembered one of the restaurants her father had already patroned since their arrival here, “Y’know, Thai sounds good right about now.”

“On it Babes,” Beetlejuice assured her, “Whaddya want?”

“Just… noodles, lots of noodles,” Lydia only barely managed not to stammer, distracted as she was by the types of thoughts running through her mind, “Chicken pad Thai should be fine, and I can use it for the next couple of meals too.”

“Whatever ya want,” Beetlejuice assured her, already picking up the phone and doing a perfect impression of her father’s voice.

Lydia thought back to her mother’s long since spoken advice. Be open to try anything once, and own whatever it was you were into. At the moment, Lydia was into the idea of having sex with a demon, the question was, was she willing to own it and go for it?

BJ BJ BJ

The tension had simmered all through the next couple of hours. By the time she had food in her belly and Beetlejuice had gotten in yet another good scare from the poor teenage delivery boy by turning some of the pad Thai noodles into flesh eating worms Lydia had made up her mind. There was no possible way of denying it, she was sexually attracted to the moldy demonic pervert she was currently shacking up with. And now, now she was going to proposition him. The mere thought of all he’d bragged about being able to do was cause for her to clench her thighs tightly together, all that possibility, all that creative perverted energy. She’d been able to stick a knife in him earlier with him absolutely enjoying the affect it had had on that damn contractor who’d stopped by. Sex, violence, pleasure, pain. It was a heady, potent combo to consider.

Now all she had to do was figure out how to do that. Sure, she could probably just say it outright and garner the same response. But there was something so stark and vulnerable about just laying it out there. While she was reasonably sure he’d fuck anything that moved and thus the odds of him actually turning her down was approximately zilch, it was still daunting to come right out and say it. So she’d taken to doing what she did best, toying with him. She’d eaten the food with unnecessary gusto, slurping loudly and letting hums of appreciation for the taste come very close to moans of pleasure. And through mostly closed eyes, she’d watched his reaction to it.

Beetlejuice was certain she was testing him. Or torturing him, either way, he was fucked. The way she was eating... consuming food like that should have been outlawed. Or maybe it was, he wasn’t exactly up to snuff on things he didn’t care about like human ethics, morals, and laws. All he knew was that Lydia had to be trying to kill him. Good thing he was already dead. And damn him, the girly scream from that teenage delivery driver had already set him on edge. He was anxious, and certain that if he didn’t find some relief soon, Lydia was going to be the way he did so.

She was certain that the fact that his attention was torn between the way she took arguably phallic objects into her mouth and her chest meant he wasn't thinking of her like some sort of holy virgin that couldn't be tainted. He was looking at her the way people had looked at other people for millennia. For a demon, he was inescapably bound by human desires. Lydia finished with one of the containers and set it to the side. Still not ready to just be honest with what she wanted she said, “Let's put on a movie,”

Half an hour later, when she was sure he was distracted by the fake blood and guts spattering across the screen, Lydia took a chance. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as she curled up next to him. He had decided to lay mostly on his side, stretching out and bending one leg up for maximum obnoxious space taking. Which meant Lydia had to fit herself in without giving the game away too early. She felt the point of his chin dig in a little at her temple as he looked to see what she was doing. She said nothing, and sure enough his attention was swiftly distracted. Then came her hand, resting benignly on his forearm at first, then turned to making mindless patterns against the fabric. Again he looked at her, question she was sure in his eyes.

“Babes,” he sounded hopeful, but like he was also trying to stamp that hope down so rejection wouldn't hurt as bad, “What are ya doin’?”

“Hmm,” she hummed, not ceasing her actions and if anything getting more bold and moving her fingers to playing with the end of his tie, which just so happened to rest against the power curve of his stomach, right near his waist, “Not the right question, try another,”

“Well what the fuck am I supposed to ask?” Beetlejuice snapped at her, not really angry, just frustrated and unbearably horny.

“Ask me what I want,” Lydia breathed, eyes darkening as she abandoned the tie for his stomach, “Tell me what _you_ want.”

He knew what he wanted. He wanted to rip that little death shroud off of her and make her scream as he'd made no one scream before. Could it be… did she want the same?

“Whaddya want from me Babes?” He asked her, feeling the stirrings if desire already begin to rend the fabric of his pants, an impressive feat given how large and poorly fitted they were.

Lydia’s eyes flicked down for a moment, and then her hand followed suit. She breathed to him, “I want,” and then grabbed ahold of the covered arousal and held it with a firm grip. And he was about ready to start writhing just to garner some friction out of this, “ _this_ ,”

Well, fuck him. Literally fuck him, that's what she wanted to do. Hell, if this wasn't enough to spur him on he didn't know what would be. Lydia looked back at him,

“Do you want me?” She asked, voice low and husky as she slowly dragged her tongue over her lips.

“Fuck,” he swore, voice hoarse with barely repressed desire. Not that he needed to repress it. The current position of her hand told him his advances would be very much welcome.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Lydia smirked just the tiniest bit, reaching for the knot on his tie and loosening it. But he noticed when she began reaching for the buttons, her fingers trembled. She didn't seem scared, but she may very well have been nervous. When she'd opened his shirt enough Lydia drew back and paused. It seemed a little gauche and tasteless to just head straight for sex, not to mention she wasn't really physically prepared for it either. crap… what did she know about foreplay? Only what she'd read about in those trashy novels both her mother and Delia had liked to read. Biting her lip a moment, Lydia leaned in and began placing kisses against his neck, along his collarbone. At least the soft moans told her she wasn't doing anything wrong yet.

Beetlejuice was just about ready to burst and she hadn’t even done any of the fun stuff yet. All she was doing was kissing his neck. Rather unorthodox place to start but hell he wasn’t complaining, while she was occupied with that his hands reached up and slid, along her calves, up her thighs, and over the swell of her ass where they settled, grabbing a handful and giving it a rough squeeze. She gasped sharply at the movement, inadvertently pushing her hips against his own. And then she pulled back, taking a moment to breathe. Her forehead was lowered, the fringe of her bangs covering her eyes. But he could see the bright red stain covering her cheeks. So she liked it a little rough did she? He chuckled, and she pouted at him, leaning in closer to begin nibbling at his ear and holy shit he’d never realized an ear could be sensitive. Or maybe it was the fact that in order to do so she’d laid down on top of him and he was almost where he wanted to be. Except, there were too many damn layers in the way. And, while he might be content to let her initiate this experience, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her dominate their first time together. He sat up and pushed her back against the other end of the couch. Then he leaned in and kissed her, just as he’d been thinking about doing since that night on the roof. Hard to believe that was only about a day and a half ago, felt like he’d known her forever since then. Her mouth was warm, and wet, and as she’d gasped in surprise at his actions open for the plundering. He stuck his tongue in and curled it around her own. Lydia was making noises, hands at his chest and he couldn’t tell if she was pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Lydia hadn't expected him to take charge of this. He'd been pretty content to let her take the lead in just about everything so far. She supposed this was what she got for letting a demon loose with no clear way of putting him back. It wasn't bad per se. At least, it wasn't until he started kissing her. She hadn't been expecting that either so she’d gasped and he'd taken every advantage of that to slip his tongue into her mouth. The sensation of another person’s extremity in her mouth was… odd. Not bad. The kiss itself wasn't bad, it was actually quite good. But it was more what the kiss spoke of that concerned her. And yet, she was torn between breaking it and silently asking for more. What the hell was wrong with her?

She finally managed to break apart and through shuddering breaths she shakily told him, “N-no,”

He paused, seeming confused, “Thought you said you wanted this,” Beetlejuice couldn't help the slight bitter note in his voice. She had initiated it and now she was rejecting him? Was it too much to ask not to be led on and made a fool of?

“No!” Lydia exclaimed, then realized how her response could be taken, “I mean, yes. I, I do still _want_ this. But, we can't kiss.”

“Why not?” Beetlejuice raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her, leaning closer and giving her a leery grin, “Seems like you liked it.”

“Because,” she argued petulantly, "Kisses are for lovers,”

“Then what are we?”

She placed a hand against the side of his face, “We’re fuck buddies,”

God, this girl. He began to laugh. Fuck buddies, that was a good one. When he was finally done laughing so hard he sent her a devilish smirk, “Sorry kid, don't do so well taking orders, ‘specially not if there's more incentive to break ‘em.”

And he kissed her again. Lydia tried to resist, tried to fight. But he was better than her, and it was hard not to melt completely under his ministrations. Her grip tightened on his lapels, one leg rising as hitching over his hip as she completely lost herself to it. She felt the bump of his cock rub against her, and it sent sparks of pleasure up through her body. She began to undulate as one of his hands slid down to her hip, passing back up over her thigh and stabilizing her knee so she could keep up the friction.

Lydia broke apart from him to try and gather air into her lungs. She felt breathless and dizzy, just like after he’d turned into a snake and tried to scare her. Arguably, this was the scarier thing; the intense desire he was eliciting from her. The deep, dark, twisted lust she hadn't realized she even possessed. Was this what it meant to really be a woman? To give and receive pleasure, to feel separated from and yet connected to one’s body all at the same time. She felt fractured between her mortal humanity and something greater than herself. Beetlejuice meanwhile had moved on to trailing kisses down her neck, leaving the dip in her collarbone, hiking that poofy skirt up for more of her body, her heat, her _life_.

And suddenly, it occurred to Lydia that she may very well be having sex on a couch. She paused the entire operation with a, “Wait, Wait!”

“What now?” Beetlejuice groused, clearly put out at having to stop yet again.

“It's just…” Lydia paused, trying to gather her scattered wits, “I have a bed.”

“Okay…” Beetlejuice drawled, not quite clear on why she'd felt the need to bring something like that up at a time like this.

“No, I mean, I got a new bed for the move,” Lydia hinted a little further.

“And?”

She grinned at him, “Let's break it,”

Hell, he was all for senseless destruction. He was even more for senseless destruction through sex. Beetlejuice knew he could have put them both in her room with a simple snap of his fingers. But everything about having sex with Lydia was worth savoring. So he would do things the breather way. He stood up and swept her up into his arms, practically taking the stairs two at a time as she giggled and started kissing the corner of his jaw. He slammed the door open and tossed her on the bed and practically pounced on her, peppering kisses all over her face. Hands reached for clothing, and again, while he had magic and could make them both naked in an instant, there was an undeniable eroticism to watching someone strip, or stripping them yourself. Like unwrapping a present, and sweet Satan below did Lydia have a treat waiting for him under that dress. Soft black and a single strip that barely covered the spot he wanted to be. Fuck she was beautiful, gorgeous, a drop dead knockout. And he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the afterlife. Lydia was vivacious, beautiful, absolutely batshit twisted. The perfect woman, and tonight she was all his.

He kissed her again, twining his tongue and encouraging her to participate. It had been a long time since he’d done anything with a partner, he wasn’t going to let her lie there and be as inactive as a sexdoll he’d seen some some of the more pathetic breathers use. Her arms pushed his jacket off his shoulders and he discarded it to the side, his tie was magicked away, his shirt was barely hanging off him. Her fingers trailed, leaving trails of living fire in their wake against his icy skin. Mold and moss and mildew soft contradictions under her fingertips, mingling with the hair that trailed down his belly. The little minx, when she reached his belt, fumbled with it, leaving teasing, barely there brushes against his cock. Fucking bitch. He loved it. His hands were busy caressing every inch of her, wanting her to have no other comparison. No matter how this ended, he would make sure he left his mark. All over her.

Lydia felt her every nerve ending light up. It wasn’t just the contradiction of cold against her overheated body, it was the sensation. Like she was being worshiped. With every brush of his fingers against her, against her breasts, her stomach, her shoulders, he was telling her he saw her. That she was there, that she wasn’t invisible. Her heart pounded as he finally lowered his fingers to her core. A soft squelch filled the air, the only thing to punctuate the silence other than her labored breathing. And… his. Strange, he was dead, he didn’t need to breathe. So why was he? She opened eyes she didn’t remember closing to see him collect some of her fluids and regard it as a sticky string between his fingers. He looked… _awed_.

“What is it?” she asked, voice soft. She knew she wasn’t normal, but was it also not normal to be this excited? She felt a little self-conscious now, being this excited to fuck a dead man.

Her question broke him out some trance of thought and he shook his head, “Nothin’ Lydia it’s just… you’re-” whatever he had been about to say he silenced by kissing her again; fiercely, desperately, ravenously. When he pulled back to let her breathe his usual cocky air was firmly back in place, “All this fer me?” he asked, spreading her again and dipping inside.

That was more like him. Lydia smirked, “And more,” she promised, “Now what about you?” she gave up on his belt and merely slipped her hand beneath the waistband, sizing him up in her palm. Thick, and big enough to break her if she hadn’t already been champing at the bit, “All this for me?”

“And how,” he chuckled, snapping a finger and the constriction of the cloth fell away. Kisses fell against her sternum as he moved his way down to her pelvis, gathering her hips up off the mattress. She was already wet, and then the first swipe of his tongue caused her to arch further off the bed.

“Ah!” she moaned before she could help herself. Beetlejuice paused and looked up at her,

“‘S a matter Lydia?” he smirked at her, “No one ever give ya this kind of attention before,”

“No,” she huffed, now miffed even though she didn’t want him to stop, “I mean it’s not like I ever-” crap, she’d said too much. He was sure to tease her for this. Instead he looked, surprised, and… somewhat flattered?

“Aww,” he cooed, “This my baby girl’s first time?” with a mortified blush on her face she slowly nodded. He chuckled, “Now ain’t that one way to really stick it to Daddy?” Beetlejuice shook his head, “Don’t you worry Lydia, I’ll take good care of ya, promise.”

Fingers, tongue, all of them worked in tandem with their only goal to work her over. And Lydia found herself reconsidering her stance on how she wanted to die. If she had to go, this was inarguably the best way to go. Out of all the things Lydia thought he’d been lying to her about, this was the one she was the most happy to be proven wrong on. Lydia felt herself rising higher and higher, winding tighter and tighter. Thoughts, words, images, sounds, all of them communicated by a language she was sure only he understood as she heard herself vocalizing from some far away place. Then, one push, one slide of his fingers, one flick of his tongue, and she broke. Her heart felt like it was going to explode, her mind felt like it was fracturing, splintering into so many pieces she’d never be able to put herself back together again. Not as the way she had been. He was the serpent, and she had been Eve, gladly tasting of forbidden knowledge to spite her maker, to indulge her curiosity, satisfy her hunger. She woke with her chest heaving and Beetlejuice looking at her like the most smug, self-satisfied prick on the face of the planet as he sucked what she assumed to be her juices off his fingers. She couldn’t say he didn’t have the right to be though.

“That…” she panted, “Was…”

“Amazing?” he offered, “Spell binding? Mind-blowingly awesome?”

“Deadly,” she finished, “The next time I wanna off myself I’ll ask you to help.”

“Tch,” he scoffed, “Like I'm gonna let you turn out like every other dead beat in the Afterlife, we ain't done yet Lydia,” he cupped her cheek, “Not by a long shot,”

She realized that he'd gotten her off, twice if she counted his role in her little fantasy earlier that night. Turnabout was fair play after all, but she didn't have to play fair. “Oh,” she said, struggling to her knees, “Right,”

She leaned forward, reaching for him. When he stopped her hands, “Babycakes, what in Satan’s name do you think yer doin’, besides me, of course.”

“Well I just figured…” she trailed off, blushing deeper and feeling even more awkward. Dammit, why was now the time she felt like an inexperienced child? Why was now the time she felt that there was some great divide of experience between them that couldn't be surmounted? The fact that he was supposedly millennia old hadn't done anything. She'd never felt out of her depth with him before, so why now?

“'Preciate the offer honey, really, I do.” He brushed her hair back behind her ear, “But we got nothin’ but time on our hands now. Can show ya what t’do later. Fer now, I think it's time we get to the main event.”

“Are…” she paused, “Are you sure?” He knew she was inexperienced with most of this stuff. But somehow this seemed less like he was eager to get good and more like he was laughing at her.

“Bet on it Babes,” he told her, “I'll collect on that offer. But right now, I wanna work you over so hard you'll never be able to let _anyone_ in you again.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Lydia asked silkily.

“Make of it what you will,” he shrugged, gently pushing her back and settling over her. Lydia tilted her head back and closed her eyes, taking a moment to just breathe. She was really doing this.hard to believe it, but she was. She was going to have sex, her first time doing so, with a dead, demonic, pervert of a man. The turns you never expect your life to take. Mama would have probably understood the attraction though.

Beetlejuice was lined up and ready to roll, until he saw her there with her eyes closed just breathing. Breathing, something he didn’t need to do. Because he was dead, and she was alive. What a contradiction they made. Just like him. A nice big middle finger to social mores and ethics. He wouldn’t have it any other way. But right now, he wanted Lydia to watch him. To look into his eyes as he became the first to really show her what she was capable of, what _they_ were capable of, “Lydia,” her name was a whisper, the benediction of a sinner praying to his black heathen master.

 _“Lydia,”_ when he said her name like that, like it was a precious treasure, she would always be drawn to him. The only one who had ever truly seen her since her mother’s death, the only one who really understood her darker inclinations, knew they weren’t just a manifestation of grief and depression. The one who said do what you want if that’s what needs to be done. Her eyes opened, and something reflecting in them brought out this surprising tenderness it was easy to assume he didn’t possess. Again one of his hands came up, brushed aside her hair, and cupped her face, thumb brushing against her lips. Her tongue flicked out against it and there was a gritted exhale through his nostrils. He closed his eyes a moment before he continued, “Are you ready Baby?”

In response her own hands reached up, cupping his face between them. She placed a soft kiss on her lips, sliding her hands over his shoulders to clutch at him and rasped, “ _Yes_ ,” into the whorl of his ear.

With one quick thrust, he was inside her. She’d never felt fuller before now. Or maybe it was the sensation of being less empty. Her gasp was swallowed by his lips as he tried to kiss away any pain he might have caused. It hurt, but the hurt of muscles being stretched for the first time, the hurt that spoke of knowledge gained at the price of innocence and naivete. In other words, the sweetest pain she’d ever felt. She felt the arch of her back slowly settle as he worked his way further into her. His hands never left her, always touching, always caressing, always connected to her in some way or form. The petting calmed her, allowed her to relax, her muscles expanding and contracting around the cool sensation of death in a place meant for creating life. A contradiction that produced sparks of pleasure as he rubbed against her. Kisses traded like currency as he slowly withdrew and pressed back inside.

Burning, he was burning up. This girl was like a fucking furnace around him. He had been to Hell. Hell wasn’t an eternal inferno, it was a void absent of light, hope, and warmth. Even the people who’d managed to make something of it, it was all nothing more than a cold shell, a facsimile of what they’d had in life. Hell was an unending chill that sunk into your bones until the concept of warmth was as foreign to the dead as breathing. And as a demonic abomination to all laws of nature, he would know. He’d never felt warmth, as a feeling or even a concept. But he was practically on fire, every bit of her heat being transferred to him as they connected. Body to body, spirit to spirit, soul to soul. Well, maybe that last one if he’d had a soul to begin with. But it was about the principle of the thing. Every time he withdrew he felt the acute loss of a warmth he wanted but could never truly attain. Not on his own. But with a partner, always with a partner. Lydia would give of her warmth, freely and without reservation, fingers tearing into cold flesh and bringing with it warmth. So much warmth. He was known throughout the land of the dead for his depraved predilections and incredible stamina. Technique as yet unmatched by anyone. But this little mortal girl was causing him to lose all sense of finesse and showmanship. It wasn’t about making her scream -though the noises of satisfaction she made were undeniably erotic- it was about bringing them both to the absolute peak of pleasure. About shattering and reshaping themselves so thoroughly and completely no one would ever be able to tell where one ended and the other began ever again. Faster, further, undulating hips and roaming hands and whispered declarations of absolute erotic filth. Then, she was screaming, keening, wailing. He felt her expand and contract around him in waves. Clamping down on him until he couldn’t do anything but remain in her and take it. It triggered his own release, hotter, longer, more unholy than any he’d experienced before.

Sounds of wet and slide slowly died as they returned to some level of consciousness and sanity. And for the first time in his long non-existence, Beetlejuice felt… tired. Exhausted, in a bones-deep way. A good way. A satisfied way. Lydia was panting, and he could feel her pulse reverberate through them both. He didn’t voice it, neither did she. But silently and -or so they assumed- solitarily, they knew. Something had shifted. Something had changed. Something, but they didn’t know what. Beetlejuice finally withdrew completely, leaving her sore and aching for something that was no longer there. He gathered her overheated body against his own, drawing up the blankets as they settled down together. He was exhausted, but remained startlingly awake and lucid, absentmindedly stroking her as she cuddled up against him. Lydia, precious, deplorable, sadistic Lydia. No, not just Lydia, _his_ Lydia. And he was certain she knew it too.

It didn’t matter if she didn’t though, he reasoned to himself as he dropped a kiss to her crown and began to slowly drift off into the realm of unconsciousness he’d only occasionally indulged out of boredom before. The house was theirs, there was no white knight hiding beyond the door, no princess stuck in the attic needing to be rescued. This was a fairy tale of a different kind. A darker kind. Lydia was young, and he was dead. Which meant, he had nothing but time to make her see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading, and until I see you next time.


	8. Beautiful Sounds and Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to cut this chapter a little bit. It was getting too long. Hope you guys enjoy it anyways. Also, credit to theartofsuicide for the monster line that makes its appearance here. Yes I know it's also in the musical but she did it first and I give credit where credit is due.

Skye was a very proud Girl Scout. Being born with a congenital heart disease meant that most activities normal children indulged in were something she couldn’t do. No sports, no tag, no games of duck, duck, goose, not even anything that would involve running for more than a mere minute, which also meant no hide and seek. She didn’t blame her parents though. They just worried about her. She’d had more than a few close calls the few times she’d dared break those rules. So when she was gifted the opportunity to grow stronger physically and mentally through a time honored institution like the Girl Scouts she’d been so ecstatic she’d nearly had another attack.

But it had been worth it. Every badge was worn with pride and honor, and now came the biggest honor of all. She was finally allowed to sell cookies! Having been with the scouts since she’d joined as a Daisy at the tender age of five, all she’d longed to do was go door to door selling cookies. For four years, she’d worked hard, striven to prove that she was capable, and responsible enough to handle it. And eventually, her parents relented. They were allowing her to go! This was the greatest day of her life thus far. There were of course, more fears her parents held, and rightly so Skye would assume. She’d heard the term pedophile more than once. Not that she really knew what it meant, but it had been one of the reasons for the guiding principle of selling cookies door to door; never go inside the house. The troop leaders wanted no one at risk of something called… being molested.

Oh well. She shrugged. Her section was of course rather small but it included that big old house on the hill as a way to help her physical condition. That didn’t matter though. The rest of the neighborhood was a breeze, mainly because no one wanted cookies. One might think the cold winter weather would entice people to curl up with a nice box of sweets. But the excuse was always the same, I’m on a diet or, I already bought cookies from the girl who stopped by earlier, or the troop selling them at the supermarket instead of door to door. Or the old favorite, no soliciting. Skye stifled a sigh, selling cookies was more difficult than she thought it would be, at the very least it was more difficult than the troop leaders and informational videos had made it seem. But she wouldn’t let it get her down. There was still one more house she hadn’t tried yet.

The one at the top of the hill. Even from here, it looked creepy as heck. Someone had told her the last people who had lived there had died inside the house. But Skye thought that was just a rumor. One of the cadets had told it to her, and Alice loved trying to scare the brownies. Well, Skye would show her, she would go to that house, knock on the door, and sell as many cookies as she could. Didn’t matter that it looked scary, she would do her job. She had her phone in her skirt pocket, and her backpack held more than just boxes of cookies. She was prepared for just about anything. Skye was a Girl Scout, and that meant everything would work out no matter what. That was the Girl Scout way. No matter if you had a congenital heart disease, no matter that even a random sneeze could kill her, everything was gonna be okay! Because Girl Scouts never gave up. The were brave and kind and sweet to the end. No matter how daunting the hill looked from where she was standing. Skye took out her inhaler and used a couple of puffs, just like the doctor had told her to. She could do this, she just had to take it one step at a time.

BJ BJ BJ

“Well, well, well, do my ears deceive me?” Beetlejuice said aloud, attention suddenly diverted as he perked up. Yes, he could hear it. The sound of little footsteps making their way up to the house.

“What?” Lydia asked, breathing hard and lips swollen as she looked up at him. They were in the living room, with him sitting on the couch and collecting on her promise. Lydia was on her knees, proving herself as fast a learner with this as with scaring and every physical aspect of sex he’d introduced her to thus far. Sure, it wasn’t nearly as much as he wanted to. But pacing was everything after all. Just this morning he’d taught her how to give a good handjob, necessary foundational skills for what she was doing now.

“I think, we’re due for another visitor,” he grinned evilly, “Ready to make some more people scream Baby?”

“Kind of busy at the moment,” Lydia shot back, turning her attention to the cock in her hands. She stroked him a couple times, keeping her grip nice and firm, but not too tight. Just like he’d taught her. Her tongue busied itself lapping at the tip, sucking lightly at the head. She tucked her lips under her teeth and bobbed her head down a moment before pulling back up and releasing him with a pop, hands keeping up a steady tension, “Unless you’d rather I stop-”

“Put your goddamn sassy mouth back on me or the way we’re scaring this kid is by letting her walk in on me fucking you over the damn table,” he groused, lacing a hand into her hair and gently nudging her back to work.

Lydia giggled a bit before she did as he bade. And his soft moans and sounds of pleasure reached her ears. It felt good to do this, to give as she was given, to reciprocate in some manner, even if it was by his guidance. And more importantly, to hold this kind of power over him. Yeah, she knew he was a horny pervert, a _needy_ , horny pervert. But when they were like this, it didn’t matter that his hand was in her hair, on her head. They both knew who really held the power. She could stop, she could tease until he begged her. Or, and the thought caused an involuntary clenching of her thighs, if she pushed him hard enough he might get rough. One thing she was quickly discovering was that she had a predilection for seeing him in his nasty, depraved element. And it took very little but a bit of teasing to get him there. Or, the third option, she could make him come apart entirely. It hadn’t escaped her notice either that those moments of tenderness indicated someone starved for physical affection. And paying a bit of special attention could reduce him to a guttural moaning mess.

The question now was, which option did she have time for? A quick flex of his fingers against her skull told her none of them. That was okay, she’d fit in what she could. Releasing him from her mouth, she pressed soft kisses down his length, licking and sucking at the veins that popped from the flesh. Strange, considering he didn’t have any circulating blood to make them do so, but whatever. The fingers in her hair flexed against her skull, an unspoken warning not to push him. Lydia couldn’t help but scoff, this was her first time doing something like this and he wanted to be picky about time, place, occasion? Especially since they could easily ignore the door so she wouldn’t be rushed. But no, greedy selfish bastard wanted to have it all didn’t he? Lydia kissed her way back up to the tip and flicked her tongue out against the crown. He jerked his hips, forcing it into her mouth a little. Eager demon. Lydia took more in her mouth, sucking lightly and keeping what she couldn’t throat warm with her hands. He began to undulate and she bobbed her head in rhythm, hands moving while she breathed through her nose.

Lydia was heaven. Absolutely every part of her was heaven. Her mouth, her core, her hands, heaven. His heaven, and only his. Not that she needed to know that now. He didn't want her to be concerned with trivial stuff like that. What mattered was what they were doing now, scaring and sex. That was all they needed. _They_ were all each other needed. That and the delectable slurping sounds coming from her mouth as she took more and more of him in. He hissed in pleasure, unable to keep it from being voiced,

“Yes, _yes_ ,” he praised, always more than willing to let a partner know when they were doing a good job, “Just like that baby girl. Fuck, you're taking me so damn deep, that's the spot, right there… shit!”

His grip on her head tightened, but not in a way meant to force more of him down her throat, she was doing that part all on her own. More so in a way that resulted from her ministrations, an involuntary reaction on his part. But damn him he couldn't help it. When he brought up collecting on the promise she’d made last night he hadn't thought she'd be so quick a study as to what he liked. He should have known, Lydia loved proving him wrong. She was so good, hot and wet and too damn attentive. He was sure that if he had a heart it would be pounding it's way out of his best by now. God she was amazing.

Lydia picked up the pace, taking more and more of him down her throat. Because she wasn't disgusted by very much, she didn't have much of a gag reflex. It had been fun pulling off that trick with bananas and popsicles as a kid, really freaked the more normal children the fuck out. Now, it was proving useful in an entirely different manner. Faster, deeper, harder, she kept up with him. And then, she decided to really torture him. When the words of praise started coming -sending a jolt of lust down to her own pelvis- she hummed in response, sending the vibrations up his shaft and into the rest of his supposedly unfeeling body. Figuring his attention would be drawn to her at that point she slowly lifted her eyes up and peered at him through her lashes. He held her gaze for a moment before letting his head drop back against the couch.

She felt so powerful at that moment. A vixen who could enthrall an untamable entity as this, make him weak, desirous, and only for her. His list was aimed at her, and her alone. He wanted her, and no one else, not in the same manner. There was this wild and untamed freedom that surrounded him, and the further she indulged it the more she craved it. The freedom to throw up a middle finger to society’s rules, to bend and break them however she saw fit. A freedom she'd only ever remembered experiencing with her mother. And sure, it probably wasn't appropriate to be thinking of her mom while she gave head to a demon, but she couldn't help it. Mama probably would have done the same given the same opportunity.

There was a grunt of, “Lydia,” that caught her attention, followed by a stiffening which could only mean one thing. He was finished, and sure enough, she felt proof of the pudding run icy down her throat. Lydia waited it out, cleaned herself and him up and tucked him back in his pants. The strangest thing about fucking a dead man was the sort of involuntary rigor mortis that accompanied an orgasm. The entire body went stiff, well except for one obvious part, and Beetlejuice couldn't move, couldn't even speak. Lydia rolled her eyes and clambered on top of him, settling in his lap, grabbing at his lapels and kissing him back into pliancy. It felt so good to hold this sort of freedom, to know that she was taking control of her life the way she never had before. Rebellion hadn't been a thing until her mother was gone, because Mama knew the importance of letting her child be free to explore her interests. She'd always looked at choices as things Lydia needed to be able to make on her own, and had allowed her to do so. In a sense, Lydia hadn't realized the freedom she'd had until it was taken away from her, until the rules and restrictions of an unfeeling, uncaring father had replaced it. But it didn't matter now, she had her freedom back, and everything was almost perfect again.

Beetlejuice’s hands were roaming her body like he could never get enough of her. He made her feel seen, special, wanted. Feelings she hadn't felt in over six months. Sure, it was a different kind of seen, a different kind of special, a different kind of want, but the sentiment was basically the same. Lydia broke apart from him with a hum and a smirk, “Thought you wanted to scare a child?” she offered conversationally licking her lips after they’d been swapping spit, “You did force me to hurry up back there,”

“Fuck, if you wanted to take your time I would have said screw the scare,” Beetlejuice told her, brushing her hair aside and cupping her cheek, swiping a thumb across her lips, “But, not bad for a first time. Speaking of scares though,” his hands drifted down to her hips, “Do we wanna scare this kid or what?”

“Hmm,” Lydia made a show of thinking about it a moment before nodding, “Alright, but only because I want you ready to take care of this,” she took his hand in hers and stuck it under her skirt where he could feel what their previous activities had done to her, “Later, sound fair?”

“Fuck, you can’t just show me something like that and tell me to go scare someone now,” his tongue was lolling out the side of his mouth, fingers already reaching for the line of her soaked underwear.

“Consider it incentive to put on a good show,” Lydia teased, placing another kiss on his lips as she slid off of him, “You got a lot riding on this, and if you do manage something really impressive, that riding might include me,”

“Brazen little witch,” he smirked at her, rising to disappear, “Where have you been all my afterlife?”

Lydia laughed as she donned her mourning hat, pulling the veil down over her face, “Couldn’t tell you Beej, couldn’t tell you.”

BJ BJ BJ

Alright Skye, the Girl Scout told herself as she finally reached the top of the hill, you can do this. It’s just a house, no matter how creepy it looks, no matter what Alice said about two people dying in there, you can do this. You just have to ring the bell and sell some cookies. That’s it. You don’t have to go inside, you aren’t even supposed to. There’s nothing to fear, except maybe frostbite. Why hadn’t she worn her sweater out today? Or maybe it was just cold because she was higher up? Something like that, probably. Her chest started to ache, and she felt a slight pull in her chest as her heart throbbed painfully. Oh goodness, did she need her inhaler? No, wait, it passed. She was okay. It was probably just the slightly thinner air up here. Meant the heart and lungs had to work harder and with her arrhythmia there had been a slight complication, especially in the cold. She’d be fine as soon as she came back down, and even then, this house was the last in her section, she could go home and ask mom for some hot chocolate later. All she had to do to do that was ring the bell.

Lydia heard the bell ring and steadied herself. This was gonna be good, she could feel it. She slowly opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. Aww… a Girl Scout, how cute. Lydia was reminded of the time her own father had tried to get her involved in scouting. Happy girls, blech, though the camping stuff had been useful. Still, children like this one got what they asked for for daring to come to this house. If she didn’t know better after two days of scaring off everyone else she had it coming. Besides, children were the worst. Lydia couldn’t help the sinister smile that tugged on her lips as she pushed the veil aside and greeted her, “Hello there little girl…”

Skye turned as the door was answered and she was greeted. Wow. Just, wow. Her mother had warned her about those teenage degenerates who dressed in all black and sat around… practicing witchcraft her mom said rather than cleaning themselves up and contributing to society. And here was one before her. Oh dear, she was… she was kind of scary. And between that and realizing this was her first actual time selling cookies -not practice like she’d done with her parents and not an instant rejection upon seeing her uniform- Skye got nervous. She giggled uncertainly, pulling and twirling at her pigtails as she tried to remember her sales pitch,

“Oh… yes, um… Hi!” she greeted with an awkward wave of her hand, the other tightening on her backpack’s straps, “M-my name is Skye. and I’m here today to support the Girl Scouts bu… by selling cookies. Four dollars a box,” she could feel her heartbeat pick up as the teenager continued to stand there and stare at her, expression not giving anything away, “W-would you like some?”

Poor girl. Lydia almost shook her head, maybe if she was less angry and didn’t associate organized girliness with her controlling father she would have felt bad. On the other hand, anyone coming door to door to sell something, especially any child being sent as a representative of a larger corporate entity needed to learn a valuable life lesson about only selling in public spaces where it was appropriate. But instead she merely said, “Sure,”

The stars in that little girl’s eyes could have lit up a night sky. Her surprised, “Really?” was evidence enough this was the first person she’d actually gotten a chance to sell to, probably ever. Lydia would actually buy some cookies just to mitigate the damage a little.

“Yeah,” she doubled down, “What flavors you got?”

Instantly heartened by an affirmative answer Skye began rattling off all the flavors the scouts had to offer for this cookie season, counting them off on her fingers as she did so, “Oh, well, I have chocolate, banana and oat bran, pecans, Samoas, Thin Mints, and a new one, it tastes like apple pie!” a sharp breeze blew past and she shivered uncontrollably, still trying to retain her excitement.

“You look cold,” Lydia observed, stepping aside and throwing an arm out into the interior of the house, “Why don’t you come inside?”

It sounded tempting. So very tempting. Even from here Skye could feel the warmth radiating from inside the house. But… but the rules. Still, she didn’t want to seem rude after this lady was nice enough to invite her in, “Well…” she hesitated, “We’re really not supposed to…”

Lydia tilted her head at the scout, “Why?” she inquired, trying her best to seem innocent. There was no way this girl was onto her, so it was probably the typical don’t go into a stranger’s house warnings most parents gave.

“Well… pedophiles,” Skye replied. Lydia was certain she’d heard that word and knew it was dangerous but not much else, like too many people these days it seemed, but rather than roll her eyes -visibly, anyways- she closed her eyes and nodded sympathetically, rolling her eyes under the cover of her lids.

Skye deliberated to herself what she should do. She’d been warned against going into a stranger’s house, both by her parents and by the troop leaders. But, but it was so _cold_ out, and this girl was being nice, not mean. Besides, she’d heard that no one got molested by some weirdo goth teen. So… maybe for just a few minutes would be alright, and she didn’t have to tell her parents she’d gone inside, necessarily, “Well… I guess…” she was Skye the girl scout, and the scouts had taught her she had everything in her to be brave and courageous, “Okay!” she said brightly, determined to follow through, “It’s fine,”

“Yeah?” Lydia raised a brow, wanting to make sure that the girl herself was making this decision so there were no real legal ramifications should someone decide to take her father to court. She wanted to scare the crap out of people, not get sued.

“Alright,” Skye nodded, “I’ll come inside!”

Lydia once again stepped aside and gestured for her to come in. Skye immediately bounded past her, and Lydia couldn’t help her cruel smirk as she shut the door behind her. The lights were off, completely, all part of the plan. Lydia placed herself in front of the door, waiting for the scout to say something.

“Wow…” Skye tried to remain optimistic, “It’s… so… _dark_ , in here.”

“Is it really?” Lydia began casually, “I hadn’t noticed, I suppose the power must have gone out.”

“Well that’s okay,” Skye chimed in, already rummaging through her bag, “I’m always prepared,” she held the flashlight up under her chin and then turned it on, “Boo,” she said giggling to herself, “Don’t be frightened, it’s just me, did I scare you?”

“I’m shaking,” was Lydia’s deadpan reply as she wandered father and farther into the living room. Come into my web, said the spider to the fly.

“Oh um…” Skye felt her heart begin to pound as she took in the dark walls and creepy decor on the walls. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“Now,” Lydia instructed, “You wait here, while I get some… cash, for those,” and here she pinched the girl scout’s cheeks and shook her face a little, trying for the role of harmless big sister type and overselling it completely, “cookies,”

“Um… okay,” Skye tried to reassure herself. The girl _was_ buying cookies after all. But every scan of the flashlight revealed more and more grotesque stuff that wasn’t meant for a normal house, or indicated a normal person. Her instincts were telling her to get out of there, and fast, “Y-y’know… it’s alright,” she continued, calling out into the other room where she’d heard the teenager’s footsteps retreat, “I m-mean, we’ll be selling these for a while so…” she began backing up, hopefully towards where the door was, “Maybe I should come back another time when your parents are home?”

Her back bumped against something solid. But it wasn’t the kind of solid that spoke of a door. More like a person. Skye felt her stomach sink into her toes as with wide eyes she slowly turned around. The beam of her flashlight fell on… a monster. It was a monster. Gold reptilian eyes, moss and mold growing on his face, a deranged smile showing off particularly sharp teeth. His voice was low, menacing, and utterly heart stopping, even though all he did was say, “ _Boo._ ”

Skye’s trembling hands dropped the flashlight, even as the house lights came on and revealed him to be even more gross, disgusting, creepy and weird than she’d thought. And in response, she let out an ear piercing scream. Run. she had to run. If she ever wanted to make it home alive Skye needed to run. But first, she should probably try to save the other girl. She probably had no idea she was living with a monster in her house. Or rather, Skye would have assumed she did until the girl came back not with cash but with a severed head in her hands. Skye screamed again. The monster and the girl, they were chasing her all over the house. And when she went for the stairs, he appeared there too. She ran back around the table and saw the girl holding out some cash. Well, apparently this was a sale, and Skye tossed her a box of cookies, grateful she wouldn’t just be getting nightmares for the next year out of this. The girl pointed to the front door, where the monster stood waiting with it open for her. They were letting her go, and Skye wasn’t about to let them change their minds. Her heart was pounding erratically, and her lungs were on fire, she’d need to call her mom first thing down the hill. And of course, the monster screamed once again, startling her on her way out as she let one more scream run through her. Skye raced down the hill to where her mom’s car was waiting. Oh yeah, she’d forgotten her mom had promised to pick her up at the last house so she wouldn’t have to walk all the way home. Skye dove into the backseat, trembling and shaking as she drew both seat belts over her body as though it could protect her from the horror she’d just witnessed. Her mom tried to ask what was wrong but Skye just couldn’t answer her. All she knew for sure was that nothing would ever get her to go back up to that house again.

BJ BJ BJ

Back inside the house Beetlejuice and Lydia were sharing a laugh, and then a kiss. And then more. A reward for a job well done and a child well scarred for life. At the very least, she wouldn’t be sleeping well for a long, long time. And her screams, those delicious screams. One of the most beautiful sounds in the world, other than those sounds Lydia was currently making into his mouth as his tongue curled with hers, hands sliding up and down her body and copping as much a feel as he could. He was just about ready to make more hands for the sake of feeling more when she broke apart with a giggle,

“That was amazing,” she told him.

“What, the kiss or the scared little scout?” he teased back.

“Both,” she smirked, “I see what you like it, it’s almost like music. So… what are we thinking? How many years of therapy will she need after this? Ten? Twenty? Or maybe just fifteen full time?”

“Don’t know, don’t particularly care,” was his response. While yes, there was an undeniable thrill to it all; the psychological torture, the pain, the dulcet singsong notes of trauma, fear, of a brain being broken into irreparable pieces, he had more pressing matters at the moment. Namely, his new hardon, and a Lydia within arms reach of fixing it, “Now c’mere,”

Then she was back in his arms -where she belonged if as far as he was concerned- and kissing, laughing, running her hands all over him. She was just about to reach for him when the door rang. He would have groaned at the interruption, but a new door ring meant a new sucker, which meant a new scare. He broke the kiss and grinned at her, “Someone’s at the door,” he told her.

“I heard,” she chuckled, “You wanna answer it this time?”

“More than almost anything,” he replied, with both of them knowing what that almost included. Lydia rolled her eyes affectionately and shook her head in bemusement,

“Don’t oversell it will you? Act natural,”

He scoffed, “C’mon, you’re giving _me_ advice?” he asked, running to the door and opening it. And there was a stupid census man in his stupid census man uniform, standing there with his stupid census clipboard not even looking at him.

“Hi I’m from the U.S. Census Bureau and- Oh my God!” his spiel got cut off as he actually peeled his eyes away from his script to look up at his audience. Beetlejuice stuck out an arm and yanked him in the house, slinging an arm around him and replying,

“Hi!” just as enthusiastically as the census man had given. The census man cowered behind his clipboard, ducking under the demon’s arm and taking note of the other person in the dwelling. Still trying to complete his job he continued,

“Uh… ahem, how many…” he looked at the one who’d answered the door for a moment and continued, “People, live here.”

Lydia raised a brow and tilted her head at her demon, “Just me,” she drawled, bracing herself against the dining room table.

“O-oh,” the census man nodded, making a quick note on his paperwork, “And… you?”

“Well see… I don’t live here,” Beetlejuice answered, “Matter of fact I don’t live anywhere, mainly ‘cause I don’t live. I’m _dead_!” he yelled in the other man’s face.

With a scream of horror the census man fled too. Strange, the pair wondered how he hadn’t seen the girl scout doing the same just moments before him. Oh well, didn’t matter to them. They laughed and Lydia clutched at her belly because her mirth was so abundant it was almost painful. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and looked at her unholy paramour,

“We are really out here ruining lives, aren’t we?” she asked him, not the slightest note of guilt in her voice. It felt good to be bad like this, to deflect her hurt by making everyone else hurt. Well, maybe not hurt, but definitely ruining someone’s day. Very few people liked getting scared, scaring them was probably a sour note on whatever kind of day they’d been having. And that gratified her, because at least then she knew she wasn’t the only one suffering. Though she wouldn’t call her disposition at this very moment tortured.

“I know,” Beetlejuice answered her with a grin. Placing a hand to his chest, where she might have though his heart would be had she any proof he possessed one he added, “Don’t it just fill ya with pride Babes?”

And it did. It took a certain amount of skill to scare someone beyond cheap jump tricks. A certain amount of finesse and talent. And it rewarded her with one of the sweetest noises there was. She was having fun, more fun than she’d had in months, more fun than she’d had since her mother died. Ring after ring, sucker after sucker, a postal worker, a pizza delivery man, even the new neighbor. Beetlejuice cloned himself, and somehow still ended up competing with himself for her attention. Lydia was happier than she could remember being in a long, long time. The knockoffs were just as fun as the original, but a bit more lenient to being directed, following along as she danced on the table. It wasn’t long before she was joined by the one and only, directing her attention as he balled up his energy and threw it thrice. The poor saps danced like puppets on strings. Their sounds of pain and fear were music to her ears, especially when he sent them running. This was freedom, exhilaration, the beautiful sound of all of it. No more dad, no more condescending adults, nothing but the sound of rebellion and victory. They were out, out of her hair, out of her face, out of her mind, out of her broken heart. A shrill symphony their only goodbye. It wasn’t much, but it had made them just as replaceable. As they tossed the interlopers out their door Beetlejuice picked her up and swung her around, whooping in demonic glee,

“Who the champ! Who the champ!” he shouted over and over. His clones responded with an uproarious, “BJ! BJ!”

Like they were reenacting a movie, he craned his neck up and kissed her. God, he was good at kissing. Lydia curled her tongue around his a moment, cupping his cheeks while the clones let out wolf-whistles and raucous cheers. He broke apart to let her breathe, panting.

“And let’s not forget the best living dead girl around, Lydiaaaa Deetz!” he set her down only to pick up one hand and raise it high above their heads, brandishing her a champion while the clones cheered and whooped and applauded. Lydia soaked it all in, not being able to help the infectious grin and she started pumping her free fist in circles, encouraging them to keep it coming.

Eventually though, the applause died down. And that was then the two of them looked up at their still interlocked hands, then caught each others eye, and quickly separated, looking away quickly. Lydia fought a blush that threatened to rise on her cheeks. What the fuck was this about? Why was she getting all shy now? She had kissed this man, she’d _had sex_ with this man, given him a _fucking blow job_ of all things. Getting flustered over a little hand holding was surely an overreaction at this point. But her heart pounded, her face felt warm, and Lydia fiercely allocated it to the fact that she’d just worked up a sweat scaring the shit out of a bunch of small town yuppies.

Beetlejuice himself cleared his throat and dusted off his dingy suit ineffectually, not understanding the strange almost tight sensation in his chest, “Well, well, well, look at you babes,” he began boisterously, eager to keep the good times rolling, “Only three days of having your very own genuine haunted house, and you’re a natural. You sure this is your first time?”

Lydia didn’t miss the double entendre in his words, and she rolled her eyes bemusedly, “I’m pretty sure it was well established what was my first time and what wasn’t Beej,” she countered, “First time living in a haunted house with actual ghosts and demons? Yes. first time scaring the shit out of people? Not so much,”

“Shouldda known you wouldn’t wait for me,” He joked, “Anyways…” he drawled, only just remembering something that was probably important since she was, y’know, _alive_ and all that, “Since you’ve decided you’re really doin’ this, committing and whatnot, there’s something you should probably know,”

“What, that you’re a biohazard of communicable diseases?” Lydia offered as she folded her arms, “Kind of already guessed that,”

“What? No!” Beetlejuice seemed almost offended at the not at all accusation she’d tossed at him, “I’m dead, you can’t get communicable diseases when you’re dead,” unless you die from them, which was how he’d gotten herpes from Katie, but it wasn’t as if that had lasted very long, “I’m clean, and sexually clean is about as clean as I get,”

“I’m teasing Beej,” Lydia smiled at the theatrics, “What did you wanna tell me?”

It took him a moment to realize that even if she had been serious about it, Lydia had probably realized that before she chose to sleep with him and then did it anyways. What a freak, she really was the best, “Uhh… right.” he cleared his throat, “Since you’re alive I realized this might pose a bit of a problem, but if ya wanna live like a ghost, ya gotta follow the rules of being a ghost. And rule number one; don’t leave the house.”

“What?” Lydia tilted her head him, “Why not? The Maitlands came out on the roof,”

“Roof’s different,” Beetlejuice said, “Still part of the house. Moment you lose contact with it though…”

“What?” Lydia insisted, not looking scared in the least, “What happens?”

One of the clones opened the door to show her. The house began to shake and Beetlejuice grabbed ahold of her as she watched the atmosphere beyond the threshold shift into a whirling landscape of sand and darkness. Those clones closest to the door immediately grabbed onto something to try and keep themselves from being sucked out. A deep keening roar reverberated down through her bones, and she saw a giant gaping maw with a burning red eye peek into the doorway.

“Shut the door! Shut the damn door!” Beetlejuice yelled over the din. The moment it was done, everything settled. The clones collapsed onto the floor before letting out a relieved cheer.

“What was that?” Lydia asked, unsure of what she had just seen.

“That was a Sandworm,” Beetlejuice explained, “Cute little critters when they’re babies. But somewhere around puberty they develop an interesting diet,”

“Of what?”

“Ghosts mostly,” Beetlejuice said, “Though they have been known to swallow the occasional demon if they get hungry enough. Since Demons can’t die though it’s mostly a lot of empty calories. ‘T’s like Chinese food, Sandworms can eat a shitton of demons and five minutes later they’re hungry again.”

“But I’m not dead,” Lydia pointed out, “So why can’t I leave?”

“You wanna live like a ghost, you’re bound by the same rules a ghost is,” Beetlejuice shrugged, “I know, doesn’t make much sense to me either. But I’m the guy who hates rules anyways so… But if you’re a ghost who wants to stay here in the living world, that’s the price you pay.”

“Wants to stay here?” Lydia tilted her head, “What do you mean by that?”

“Curious today, ain’tcha?” Beetlejuice parried, “Look, when you die, you have two options pretty much; stay and haunt the place you died or have a strong enough emotional attachment to, or go to the Netherworld. It’s all laid out right in the handbook.”

“Handbook?” how had she never heard of there being a handbook for the dead?

“Yep, _Handbook for the Recently Deceased_ ,” Beetlejuice nodded, “Not that it would be much help to you since, you’re not recently deceased. But it’s got a bunch of nifty info for folks who recently bit the big one; ways to haunt, spectral parameters and abilities, intermediary interfaces on haunting, how to summon a ghost-”

“If this book is so informational why don’t Adam and Barbara have one?” Lydia raised a brow at him.

“Huh, good question,” he paused a moment, clearly thinking up an excuse, “Wouldn’t know, got here after they died,”

“Right…” Lydia drawled, mulling over his words and suddenly that last bit sunk in, “Wait,” she began slowly, “Did you say… summonings? As in, you could summon a ghost?”

“Kinda what the word summoning means, now isn’t it?” Beetlejuice asked rhetorically, summoning a glass of water for no particular reason and starting to drink from it.

Lydia mulled this over. Beetlejuice had been around long enough to probably know the handbook front to back, especially if he could list off the various features. And so far, he’d proven himself more than willing and capable of doing anything she asked him to do. So, her heart began to pound as she realized something she could have asked for.

“Do you think…” she began slowly, “We could summon a ghost?” hope lit a fire in her chest and she looked towards him with big doe eyes, “Could we… could find my Mom?”

“You fucking high?” Beetlejuice asked her between swallows, “If your mom’s dead and even half as smart as you she took one look at that handbook and went straight to the Netherworld,”

“The Netherworld…” Lydia a mused, “But, you said the handbook had stuff about summoning ghosts. Could we use it to find her? Couldn’t we use it to bring her back? Could we bring her _here_?” she asked, getting closer and closer to him. And that was when he spat out the water he was drinking right in her face.

“What?” he asked, pacing around restlessly as she wiped the spittle off her face, “Why the fuck would anyone wanna spend more time with their _mom_? My mom, Juno, was the worst. Whenever she wasn’t fobbing me off on someone else she was always trying to change me. Mothers only exist to maintain the status quo.”

“You really need to meet my mom then,” Lydia told him, “You’d like her, and she’d love you,”

“I’m sure,” Beetlejuice deadpanned, “Nothing more I wanna do with my time than have to share a haunting space with someone whose daughter I plan to fuck over every surface of this house. You’re right, I’m sure she’d be cool with that. Not that it matters, like I said; if she’s half as smart and spiritually inclined as you, she went to the Netherworld. Even if we could find her, and that’s a big ole ‘ _if_ ’, no one ever leaves the Netherworld.” trying to stay in her good graces he added, “Besides, we only just got rid of your dad, and we’ve been having so much fun!”

“It would be even more fun with my mom,” Lydia replied forlornly, looking at the floor. Then, deciding to try a slightly different tactic she went back over to him, squeezing her tits together with her arms a moment before sliding her hands up over his shoulders, clinging to his lapels as she pressed herself against him. Lydia batted her eyes and pouted her lips, adding a sultry saccharine affectation to her voice, “Oh _please_ won’t you do this for me BJ?” she asked, “I just... miss my mom _so much_. And if you can find her for me,” rising on her tiptoes to whisper directly into his ear she added, “I’m sure I can make it worth your while,”

His hands were already on her hips, groping her without a care they had an audience. The clones were all extensions of himself anyways. Always nice to have eyes all over the place. Her offer was tempting, and as a demon resisting temptation was not exactly something he was predisposed to do. But the idea of having some parental figure hanging around, even if she was supposedly as cool as Lydia claimed, did not sit well with him. Thankfully though, he had an honest excuse for refusing this time around,

“Much as I would love to help you out Babes -and believe me I would _love_ to help you out- I’m afraid I can’t,” Beetlejuice gently disentangled himself from her so he could summon a piece of paper out of the ether, “See, I’ve been banished from the Netherworld,” summoning a pair of reading glasses he then perched on his face he read from the edict, “The demon here known as… well… me,” he adlibbed, still unable to say his own name, “Is hereby banished from the Netherworld, as are all known manifestations or disguises, for a term of three millennia, after which parole and entry on a temporary conditional basis shall be reviewed,” snapping the glasses and paper away he added, “And _that_ particular banishment is recent.”

“Thought you said you fucked Freddie Mercury?” Lydia raised a brow at him, “And since when do you care about rules or laws?”

“I fucked Freddie because I was hanging around the night he died. Different story,” Beetlejuice countered, “Besides, while I normally don’t give a flying fuck about rules, if and when they catch me they’ll feed me to a Sandworm, which, while it won’t do anything to me traveling through a Sandworm’s intestinal tract is a waste of my limitless time I’d rather not go through.”

“So what?” Lydia asked, “You have powers a plenty, can’t you just poof yourself out of there?”

“Well gee,” he put a hand to his chin as though he hadn’t already thought of that, “If that was the case I suppose Sandworms wouldn’t be an issue since all their prey could do that. But here’s the thing, Sandworms secret an enzyme in their saliva that suppresses spectral and supernatural powers. Which means once their prey is in? They ain’t gettin’ out.”

“Well… what about the Maitlands?” Lydia suggested, “They’re not banned from the Netherworld, and since they already chose to stay here, they’d be good right? Could we have them do it?”

“Sure, something like that,” Beetlejuice quipped. And then he paused to think it over, the Maitlands had already long outlived their usefulness to him. If he really wanted this to be their house, he would need to get rid of the. The Maitlands were rightfully wary of them, and panic had a way of spreading. The last thing he needed was his sweet little Lydia being corrupted by them. Might be a good idea after all, “Well, you might have a point. But the problem is that they’d need a handbook to get in to the Netherworld, and isn’t it just my luck, i don’t happen to carry extra copies on me,” he made a show of digging around in his pockets and pulling out a page ripped from a book, “Full copies anyways,” he looked it over, yep, this was the page that would do it, and if not, well he could always come up with a plan B, “It’s not the best, but it’ll give them a start anyways,”

Lydia took the page and read it over, “‘In case of emergencies, draw a door’?”

“Wouldn’t you consider finding your mom an emergency?” Beetlejuice asked her.

“You’re right,” Lydia sighed with relief. Finally she was going to see her mom again, even if it would take a little longer. She finally had hope, she finally had someone there for her, who would support her in every dirty and underhanded way he could. She leapt into his arms and kissed him, “Thanks Beej, you’re the best!”

He was the best, the best at being the worst that was. But her kisses were always good.

“And don’t you forget it Baby,” Beetlejuice returned the embrace before sending her off, “Now get that perky little ass in gear sugar, Netherworld’s a big place, and you’ll want the Maitlands to get cracking as soon as possible.”

He watched swing her hips for his benefit as she rushed up the stairs. Oh yeah, he was definitely going to be getting some later for this little stunt. Man he really was a saint, wasn’t he? Beetlejuice snickered to himself,

“In case of emergencies, draw a door, man,” he shook his head as he regarded the page he’s sent his little mortal paramour off with, “Even when ghosts decide to stay the Netherworld comes to claim them. Tricking people into going some place they can’t come back from, and _I’m_ supposed to be the villain here,” he snickered, and the clones did too. Damn, he’d forgotten they were still out and about.

But, maybe it was a good thing they were still here. He would need a sounding board. Normally, he wasn’t the sort for planning ahead more than his original goals, which were already reached. But this was the time to sit and contemplate. Much as he might have been annoyed by them, Lydia had a soft spot for the schmucks in the attic. Even if she did manage to send them away, she’d ask about them eventually, and she’d only buy the ‘they’re probably still looking’ excuse for so long before she requested they go after them too. And then there was the issue of daddy dearest. Beetlejuice wasn’t a fool, he’d seen the worry and fear in old Chuck’s eyes as he’d called for his child even while being forced out of his home. Parental concern and a man’s ego would drive him to come back here, eventually if not sooner. And unless Beetlejuice scared him bad enough to kill him or put him in a coma, he’d keep coming back. Now, while killing Chuck and sending him on his merry way to maybe reunite with Lydia’s mom would kill two birds with one stone, Lydia would eventually find out about that too, and be mad at him. And while hate sex and angry sex were fun in and of themselves, Lydia was also the type to be broken up about a loved one’s death, as evidenced with her dead mom preoccupation.

All of which left him in the perfect predicament for those repressed issues of his own to rear their uglier heads. Whispering that no matter what he did, Lydia would leave him. And even though he was out, he wouldn’t be able to go after her. She would leave, just like Juno, just like his father, just like the Maitlands, just like newly dead he helped did. Help, all he did was help, and what did he get in return for it? An eternity of loneliness and all the emotional baggage that went along with it. Well not this time. This time he had Lydia, the girl who had been able to see him when no one else could, the girl who accepted him for all he was, the girl who had given of herself to him in a way that no one else had ever dared, completely unafraid. And he wasn’t about to let anyone take her from him. But how, even if they’d had amazing sex, this wasn’t something to jump into lightly. This required delicacy, which he didn’t have, tact, which he didn’t have, and romance, which he wasn’t good at.

Okay, so the deck wasn’t exactly in his favor for this. And he could feel the clones start to get nervous. They all shared a brain, so they knew the thoughts running through his head. And their surprise at his decision was the one that mirrored his own. Sex was easy, sex was nothing to him. But what he was considering now wasn’t sex. It was more. It was commitment. It was… marriage. A marriage which meant giving up all the perks of being a dead undead demon. All his powers, all the extra limbs, the literal translation stuff, all of it. For life, for Lydia. Would she even _want_ him if she was alive? Was the draw the fact that he was dead and she was alive? Would she even want him around for much longer? There were a lot of complications to consider. Besides, as much as he’d loved spending time with Lydia, they’d only known each other three days. Unless he got her drunk and kept her that way through the ceremony, there was no way in hell she would willingly agree to marry him.

Then again, he thought as he heard the crunch of tires sound from outside and a check at the window revealed that, sure enough, it was Chuck and his little redheaded whore, maybe he wouldn’t have to. With an evil sneer Beetlejuice pulled out another page from the handbook, and with a wave of his hand it was restored and reformed to a book all its own. One quick change to the incantation’s title, and he left it on the dining room table. He would hang around though, and make sure that piece of information got into the wrong hands. One way or another, Lydia was going to be his, even if he had to kill a few people to do it.

BJ BJ BJ

Barbara and Adam were up in the attic, where they had remained for the past three days. Beetlejuice had made sure to keep them at bay. So unless Lydia came to them, they were stuck. Adam was pacing the length of the space, while Barbara sat by the window, having nothing better to do than watch the people fall victim to the two little hellions downstairs as she had for the past couple of days. Adam was busy muttering and fretting, absolutely certain nothing good could come of any of this.

“He’s gonna kill someone,” Adam put his hands to his head, “Someone is going to get killed because of him, or at the very least seriously injured and probably scarred for life.”

“I know Adam but what can we do?” Barbara asked, “We’re not powerful enough to stop him on our own. And he told us what he’d do to us if we tried to interfere-” the sound of a scream broke through her sentence, and she turned her attention back to the window, “Oh no,”

“What?” Adam asked.

“They scared a girl scout,” Barbara said pityingly, “And I think it was little Skye,”

“Skye Rodenheimer?” Adam asked, “The one with the heart condition?”

“Looks like,” Barbara clucked her tongue, “Poor girl was finally allowed to sell cookies and this is what she gets. Oh and she's such a sweetheart too.” she let out a pained sigh and turned to her husband, “Adam, I’m so worried about Lydia. She can’t live like this, it’s not healthy,”

“And what about the Deetzes?” Adam asked her, “I know we wanted to scare them off but what did we expect? Lydia wouldn’t be able to stay with us, she’d have to go with them.”

“Adam, did we do the right thing?” Barbara asked, “Going through with the plan knowing what we knew about them? Charles just lost his wife, Lydia just lost her mother. And all we did by letting her see us was give her false hope. Who knows where her mother is right now.”

“It’s not as if we could have gone anywhere Barbara,” Adam reminded her, “We’re stuck here for the next century.”

“Unable to help Lydia while she’s with that… pervert down there,” Barbara shook her head, disgusted with herself, “We should have made sure he was gone before trying to scare anyone.”

“We should have done a lot of things,” Adam agreed, “But we need to focus on what we can do now,”

“And what can we do?”

“Well, um…” he thought about it a moment, “Wait! I have an idea, let’s chop off his head!”

“Good plan,” Barbara agreed, “Now… how are we gonna do that?”

Before he could answer the door to the attic swung open, and in walked Lydia holding a ripped page in her hands,

“Who are we decapitating?” she asked, apparently having heard the tail end of their conversation.

“Beetlejuice,” Barbara hissed with all the venom and vile contempt she felt for the man.

Lydia looked at her a moment and shrugged, “You should,” she replied, “He’d probably love that.”

The Maitlands let out sounds of aggravation. Because Lydia was right. Besides, what good would decapitating a dead man do? All he’d probably do would be to send his body around the house looking for it. He’d treat it like a game of hide and seek.

“You know,” Adam bristled, “Hate is a very strong word to use but I really, _really_ -” he paused for a moment, still unable to bring himself to say it, “Do not like him.”

Lydia giggled, “Yeah, I know. He’s a monster alright, but hey; he’s _my_ monster. Does that make you feel any better?”

“Not really,” Adam sighed, “Lydia we’re worried about you. That man is-”

“Under control,” Lydia cut him off, “I’ve this whole thing under control you guys. Besides, why are you complaining? You got your house back, isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes we did,” Adam said, “But not at this cost Lydia,”

"Cost?" Lydia tilted her head at them, "What cost?"

"This..." Barbara held out her hands as though to indicate the whole situation, "You're still so young, you've got your whole life ahead of you. You should be taking advantage of it, not playing dead in this house,"

"You don't have any idea how many times I've contemplated being dead in the last six months then," Lydia replied sardonically.

"Lydia," Barbara shook her head, "Being dead doesn't solve anything,"

"Listen to her Lydia," Adam begged her, "This is something we know a lot about,"

"Do you really?" Lydia asked them, seeming to grow a bit more agitated, "Because it doesn't seem like you do,"

The Maitlands looked at one another, "Okay, maybe we don't know a lot about being dead, or about being ghosts," Adam admitted.

"But we do know about regrets," Barbara finished, "And we don't want you to have any."

"You think I'm making a mistake here then, don't you?"

"Lydia you're still just a child," Barbara told her, "A wonderful girl, a smart young woman. But you're at the age where people still know how naive you are. And they'll take advantage of it. Especially people like that... that-"

“Look," Lydia sighed, "I'm not here to argue with you guys about Beetlejuice, or my goings on with him. I'm here to ask you guys for help,”

“Help getting rid of him?” They perked up immediately.

“What? No,” Lydia looked at them, “I know you don't like him but you know what, he got what we all wanted done done. He even told me how to find my mom. That's why I need you guys,”

“What do you mean?”

“My mom is in some place called the Netherworld, which he’s been banished from, but said you two could probably go there to look for her,” she handed them the page, “This is all I've wanted for six months you guys, please say you’ll do it,” she pleaded, “Please help me get my mom back,”

The Maitlands shared a look. How could they deny her the chance to find someone she’d lost? Someone who losing had torn her whole world apart? And how could they deny that if they were the ones in her position they would be asking the same of someone else? With a sigh, Adam looked at the page, and found it was two, stuck together.

“Wow, what’s this?” he asked, shuffling the one he was supposed to read to the back, “Wow,” he remarked.

“What?” Barbara and Lydia asked, “What is it?”

“This… is such an interesting font!” Adam exclaimed, “Sorry, printmaking was a… well former hobby of mine. Ahem, let’s see, it’s from the first page of the Handbook I suppose, it says, “Chapter One: The Netherworld; All ghosts should proceed directly to the Netherworld,”

“Well that’s strange,” Barbara remarked, “Be- I mean, _he_ told us we had a prerequisite probationary haunting period of a hundred and twenty-five years.”

“And you believed him?” Lydia raised a brow at them.

“In our defense,” Adam countered, “We had only just died, and he had our copy of the handbook,”

“Man I wish we’d gotten it back from him before he tossed it in the fire,” Barbara shook her head.

“Would have been useful to know,” Adam added, “Saved everyone a lot of trouble,”

“Uhuh…” Lydia drawled, “He told me he had no idea why you two hadn’t gotten one, but I already knew he was a liar so…” she shrugged, “The second page Adam, that’s what I need you guys to do.”

“Oh, right,” Adam shuffled the papers and looked back at the page he’d originally been handled, “”In case of emergencies, draw a door,’. Well, sounds simple enough,” he set the pages aside to go search for something to draw with. Ah, there, some left over chalk from their chalk art phase. He reached for it and searched for a spot on the wall, finding one he tossed over his shoulder, “Now, normally I’d use a plumb line, but… I’m not too shabby with freehand either.”

There was a scratchy hiss of chalk scraping against wood, and it felt as though they were on the cusp of something big. But nothing happened, and Adam referenced the page yet again, “Oh, right, ‘Knock three times,’ Well,” he paused, “here goes nothing.”

He did so, and the door opened, revealing a swirling green mist and a sickly green light to an unknown world. Lydia’s mouth dropped open,

“Is that the Netherworld?” she asked.

“Netherworld,” Adam replied, almost in a daze. Then something happened. The atmosphere once full of wonder turned sinister and predatory. And it did something to Adam. Dropping the chalk and the papers Adam began to slowly shuffle towards the portal he’d drawn like he was in a trance. Well, to be honest he looked more like a zombie minus the rotting flesh, but the point still stood.

“Adam?” Barbara worriedly asked her husband.

“Netherworld!” now the zombie comparison was really apt, he just wasn’t demanding brains. 

“Adam!” Barbara worriedly called, he wouldn’t respond and kept ambling for the door. Panicked Barbara did the only thing she could, close the door.

“What- no!” Lydia ran for the now seamless wall and tried searching for the cracks. Her heart sunk further, when she tried to recreate the door to no avail, and saw the Maitlands ripping up the pages, “What are you doing!” she cried.

“Lydia, this is all wrong,” Barbara told her as she discarded the scraps of paper to the floor, scattering them so they wouldn't be put back together again, “That place is dangerous,”

“I thought you were on my side, you promised me you’d do this for me!”

“I know we did,” Barbara tried to placate the teenager, “And Lydia we _are_ on your side, but you can’t live like this… in a haunted house, _by yourself_ , all alone-”

“Alone?” Lydia couldn’t believe that the woman didn’t understand. She had been there when Lydia had bared her soul. Barbara should have known. Barbara should have helped her do this. But no, Barbara was just like dad. They both were, “I’ve been _alone_ since the day my mother died! And now I finally have the chance to get her back and you guys won’t help me? _Please_ ,”

Barbara felt her beatless heart melt. She wanted to give in, wanted to say that yes of course she’d help Lydia, whatever the girl needed she’d do. But Barbara remembered the way that light had pulled Adam into it. And how there was this feeling deep in the very core of her that told her if she went through that door, she would never come back out.

“I want to Lydia,” she began slowly, “But it’s just too risky.”

“Right,” Lydia’s voice dripped venom, “And I suppose you two would know _all_ about risk, now wouldn’t you?” shaking her head she turned and headed for the door, “Nevermind, I’ll find a way to get my mom back, even if I have to do it without you.”

“Lydia wait!” Adam called. And she couldn’t have been that mad at them because she did pause.

“Please listen to us Lydia,” Barbara begged her, “We’re scared for you!”

“Scared?” Lydia raised a brow at them, “You guys are scared of _everything_. And that’s why I’m downstairs with most of my problems solved while _you guys_ are stuck here in the _attic_.”

And with that parting remark, she left. Adam and Barbara were left to stew over her words. Barbara, however, was the one who realized what Lydia meant by it. Adam, typical in his stubbornness when he was upset, merely remarked to the empty air,

“Well I _like_ the attic,” he sniffed as he crossed his arms, “it’s the one place in the house that’s still ours.”

“Adam,” Barbara began, “She’s right.”

“What?”

“Lydia was right,” Barbara repeated herself, “I mean… look at us! We’re stuck in the attic while the rest of what was once our house is overrun by that striped pervert!”

“I don’t see how that makes Lydia right,” Adam pointed out.

“Adam, before we died we decided to take a step. Maybe it wasn’t a big one, or the one people expected us to take, but it was a step. A step towards healing, towards moving forward, towards being honest with ourselves about what we wanted out of our lives. And then what happened? We died and now here we are right back at square one! Hiding from what we want, what we know we need to do, because we’re scared of losing everything we have. But Adam, what _do_ we have now? All we have is the love for that little girl who is hurting and needs people to be there for her. To help guide her in the right direction, to let her grieve and know that it’s okay to miss someone but that missing someone doesn’t mean trying to get them back is the way to go about things. To tell her that that… that… that _thing_ downstairs is not her friend and is using her!"

"We tried to tell her that and she just brushed us off!"

"Because she's so blinded by what she wants she doesn't know what she _needs_. And what she needs, is... _us_. Adam, we have to let go of our fears or we’ll lose everything we didn’t know we gained!”

Adam sighed. She was right. Barbara was always right about stuff like this. How easy it had been, to slip back into old habits. To claim that strangers frightened him, to take one chance and when it failed look to someone else for direction taking comfort in the fact that he couldn’t fail so long as he wasn’t calling the shots. But Lydia needed a father. Well, another father. One who would tell her bad jokes and teach her odd hobbies and haunt the crap out of anyone who dared to hurt her. He knew deep down, that Charles would try to reclaim her, and might even take her away after all this. But Adam would at least fight to make sure Charles could do that.

“You’re right honey,” he agreed, “So, what’s the plan?”

“We face our fears, and her pet monster or not, we go down there and finally help Lydia see sense,” Barbara said decisively.

Course of action set, the Maitlands followed after the girl who wasn’t their daughter, but very much was. Of course, they had no idea the dominoes set to be tripped by their courage. Nor that when the bricks came tumbling down, they were the ones set to take the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


	9. When the Shit Hits the Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, sorry this one is shorter than the last couple of them. I know, I'm messing up my own outline by breaking it up but when you have monster chapters sometimes that happens, and I wanted what's going to happen next to have its own space to digest and really mull over. You'll get what I mean with the next update, I promise. Anyways, enjoy!

Charles Deetz hadn't slept in three days. How could he, when his only daughter was trapped inside a haunted house with that striped monster? And worse than that, a _male_ monster who she seemed to be overly familiar with. Thoughts of payment for his aid turned quickly to thoughts of his poor sweet Lydia being broken and bruised under that thing’s more amorous attentions. What if she… what if she had _died_? He didn't think that was a loss he'd ever be able to bear. No parent should ever live to bury their child, assuming there was anything left to bury. And the monster’s words rattled like chains inside his head,

_“I've come for your daughter Chuck,”_

And he’d left her to him. Embarrassed, humiliated, scared out of his wits. Delia had been right, he should have rectified the situation months ago. He should have been honest from the beginning. Honest with his feelings; but how could he possibly tell Lydia about the hole Emily had left in his heart when she was dealing with the one in her own? How could he call himself a father after abandoning his daughter to save himself? And how could he ever expect Lydia to forgive him for everything he’d done trying to fix what had been broken? But had he really been trying to fix it, or had he merely been pretending nothing was broken in the first place? And if that was so, could he dare hope he had the chance to make things right?

He was exhausted, overtired, and probably starved. But food made him nauseous, water was the only thing he could handle. And sleep was nothing to him. Delia had forced him to lay down in the hotel while preparations were made to try and cleanse the house and rescue Lydia. It took about three days, but he was finally ready. The house looked so nonthreatening from the outside. How could it be it had become the site of nightmares, horrors, and other atrocities against nature? Well, time to make the announcement, he was home. But where was home anymore anyways?

Clutching tight to Delia with one hand and keeping a death grip on a crucifix with the other Charles unlocked the door and crossed over the threshold. While the house was certainly a mess, aesthetic wise he couldn’t say it was anything worse than what Delia herself had done. The black was a bit dour and gloomy, and the snakes sticking in and out of the walls were garish at best, but there was definitely evidence someone had made the space their own. At the very least, it was the sort of thing he realized Lydia would have liked. They crept inside, afraid to make a single floorboard creek lest they announce their presence before they were ready. And yet, Charles couldn’t resist antagonizing the entity, determined to make him know who he was dealing with.

“Hello?” he called, voice sounding weaker than he would have liked, “Stripey… ghost man? I have returned to pry my beloved daughter, from your cold dead hands…”

He had more to say, but then the door slammed shut behind them and Delia released him only to latch herself onto some weird furniture he might have guessed would be a couch. And naturally it was with a loud, startled shriek. He loved this woman dearly, but her theatrics could be a bit much at times. And he did not need unnecessary panic here and now. He huffed,

“Delia, it’s just the wind,”

“But what if it isn’t?” Delia began to fret, letting go of the couch and hurrying over to him, “What if… what if it’s Lydia? What if Lydia’s been possessed? What if… what if she’s in my head, right now?”

“Delia, there is absolutely nothing in your head right now,” he told her, not realizing the way it came out until he looked at her with a slightly offended expression on her face.

“Charles!”

“Uh… I mean… except brains. Big, beautiful brains,” he amended, moving to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. Delia looked flattered and shy, turning slightly away from him as she shot back,

“You have a big brain,”

“That’s not the only part of me that’s big,” he didn’t know what had possessed him to say it, but Delia brought out this wild man in him who said things off the cuff without thought as to if there was an audience around them or not.

He saw a flame light in her eyes and her purr, “I know,” back at him.

He drew her closer to him and was about to say what the hell and kiss her, but then he remembered where they were. And there was the sensation of eyes, all over the place, watching him. He shuddered and settled for drawing Delia back to him protectively, “Ugh, this godforsaken house. Quick, let’s save Lydia and get the hell out of here,” he looked around, steering her in the direction of the table, “Now where is that damned exorcist!”

“Well…” Delia began, almost sheepishly, “About that…”

He could feel his heart sinking, “Delia what did you do?”

“I have some exciting news!” as always she tried to put a positive spin on everything, even though she could tell he was probably going to be upset with whatever she said next, “I thought long and hard about the sort of help we would need for this place if we ever hope to save Lydia from this place, and I came to the decision that priests don’t really work in this day and age. I mean, what if the ghosts are Jewish? Or Hindi? We need someone that can exorcise regardless of religious denomination. So I cancelled the exorcist and got someone even better! My guru, Otho!”

Charles could feel a tendon in his neck throb, “Sweet Jesus Delia! We need a real exorcist, not some spiritual guide for-” he cut himself off, insulting her spiritual choices would only lead to an argument he did not want to have right now, “I mean, you saw that monster. Who knows what he’s done to Lydia!”

He didn’t want to think about it. There had been a hunger in that thing’s gaze, a proprietary tone in his words. And Charles never wanted to think of his daughter doing anything amorous with _any_ man, but most especially not with a creature like _that_.

And yet of course, Delia was, predictably hurt. She pouted at him before turning away, “Well I thought you’d be proud of me for taking initiative!”

Delia spoke very little of her past. But something in her craved validation and praise. And he couldn’t help but give it to her. She was trying, it wasn’t her fault her attempts were pushing them in the wrong direction. But Charles was beginning to think that after all of this he’d need to sign everyone up for some serious therapy. And that this supposed guru of hers was doing more harm to her spirit than she realized.

“No Delia, I am proud of you, I’m… I’m super proud!” he said, forcing more enthusiasm into the second part of that sentence than he really felt. And just like that, that was all she needed.

“You won’t be disappointed, I promise!” Delia assured him, “It’s like my guru always says, ‘If you don’t take a chance, you don’t have a chance because; you didn’t take it’.”

The door slammed open with dramatic flair, as though someone had been waiting for their cue. In strolled a man who would have been more at home on the televangelism channel than here in this wonky living room. Holding for applause a moment he responded,

“It’s true, I do always say that!”

“Otho!” Delia exclaimed, clapping her hands together as she ran to greet him.

“Delia my most loyal supporter!” he greeted her, “You have sown your faith well my child of the stars,”

“All for you, my guiding light!” she responded, in an almost mechanical manner, were it not for the enthusiasm in her tone.

“I’m sorry, sown your faith?” Charles asked. The businessman in him was sensing alarm bells everywhere. Alarm bells that screamed, “Scam, scam, SCAM!”

“It’s all part of the spiritual process Charles,” Otho replied, “All of it outlined in in my book, _‘How to Align Yourself with the Essence of the Universe_ ’ Volume One, available at a retailer near you,” he turned to them and continued, “In order to receive, you must sow, a seed. A tiny seed that is nurtured through your spiritual -and financial-” he added out the corner of his mouth, “Support. Delia has been my most loyal and generous supporter, so how could I possibly deny her petition for intercession in the hour of your greatest need?”

“Oh Otho, you truly are a man of the cosmos!” Delia simpered. And there was a sort of affection, fanatical and personal, which spoke of something much more… intimate between them. Gross. Charles wasn’t someone who believed in the concept of sloppy seconds by any means, but still; ew.

“Of course, my dear,” Otho assured her, “I am filled with all the love the universe has to give. Which reminds me, the universe has a gift for you?”

Delia gasped, “Really?”

“Yes, can you guess what it is?” when Delia shook her head no he threw out his arms and exclaimed, “Spirit Hug!”

Delia did something which he had once heard Lydia refer to as a “squee”. She brought her arms in close together, balled up her fists, and shook them a little, emitting a high pitched sound as she did. Then, she threw open her arms, mirroring Otho as they hugged themselves, proclaiming,

“Life is life. Love is love. Live. A life. Of love!”

“Okay…” Charles began as he watched them do the movements that apparently went with the mantra, “Look, Otho, buddy. I’m… I’m sure you’re a great… uh… whatever it is that you do, but um… do you really think you’re equipped to handle this? I mean, we are talking about a haunted house here.”

“Why Charles I’m surprised you’d doubt me when Delia’s your companion. Delia,” he turned his attention to her, “What do I always say about doubt?”

“Oh, um…”she thought for a moment, “That the b may be silent but it still stinks?”

“No, not that one,”

“Um… Why say doubt, when you can stop at do!”

“Close, but no,”

Delia really paused and really thought it over, “Oh! I know! Doubt; it has a ‘u’ in it, but doesn’t have a ‘me’!”

Otho clapped his hands together, “That’s the one! Someone’s been studying her spiritual texts hasn’t she?” he teased her with a light tap to the tip of her nose. Delia flushed a little and preened under the praise.

“Spiritual texts?” Charles couldn’t believe this. He’d seen people selling actual snake oil who were more subtle.

“Yes, ' _Otho’s Admonitions: All the Mantras You Need to Reach for the Stars_ ', only available through my members only access lecture series on YouTube or for top tier seed sowers on my website,” Otho explained, “Sent free of charge of course. Now, besides all of that Charles, I do have some experience in dealing with exorcisms of course.”

“You do?” Charles found that hard to believe, but was also finding it difficult to find an exit from this conversation.

“Of course,” Otho told him, “After my stint as a paranormal researcher, I longed for a connection with the universe, a way to understand the poor trapped souls stuck here on earth past their time,” Otho lamented, “So, before I became, this,” he gestured to himself dramatically, “I began studying to be a priest. However, I found that I… didn’t quite agree with some of the tenets of Catholicism. Including their methods of exorcising spirits. So, I broke apart from the cloth and improved on their techniques. In doing so I became motivated to help not just the dead, but the living as well. So,” he clapped his hands together, “What do you say?”

Charles looked at him, then at Delia, “Charles, you really can’t argue with experience like that,”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Charles replied. To Otho he said, “May I have a private word with my fiancee, please?”

“Of course, take your time,” Otho replied, “Delia, I know you won’t let me down.”

“Of course not Otho,” Delia promised even as Charles took her by the shoulders and physically walked her over by the fireplace where they could hopefully speak in a bit more privacy while Otho perused the space.

“Delia, sweetie,” Charles began through clenched teeth, trying not to sound too negative, “I know you put a lot of trust in this… guru of yours, but do you really think he’s the man for the job?”

“Otho has never let me down Charles,” Delia told him, “It’s because of him I am who I am today. Please give him a chance!”

Charles wanted to protest, but she'd already cancelled the exorcist. Waiting around for someone else would take too much time, and they needed to do something sooner rather than later. So, he relented, “Oh, alright,”

“So I have the job then?” Otho asked, appearing right at Charles’ shoulder like he hadn't been listening in on the whole conversation.

Charles sighed, “Yes, you have the job,”

“Wonderful!” Otho clapped his hands together, “Oh, and speaking of jobs, my card,” from his breast pocket he pulled out a small business card and handed it to Charles.

“Interior Design?” Charles questioned the words on the card.

“For when you want to do something about…” Otho waved his hand around, gesturing at the room at large, “This. Not that what you have done with the place isn't fabulous, snakes are all the rage in Milan right now, but the spiritual energy it's somehow,” he took a deep sniff of the air with his nose and gesticulated in a way that coveted trying to find the right words and failing, “It's not flowing the way it should.”

“That's probably because there’s a murderous ghost here who's been holding my daughter captive for the last three days,” Charles replied testily.

“Oh, right,” Otho remembered, “Well, let's head out to my certified pre-owned car, because I have _just_ the thing that's going to take care of that little problem.”

“Ooh, what is it?” Delia asked, unable to react in any other way than with awe in the face of her mentor.

“Right now, outside the walls of this house, nestled in the hatchback of my car, is a mysterious device of my own invention. The perfect weapon to help you vanquish your ghost. I call it: the soul box!”

“Wow!” Delia gasped, already impressed even though they had no idea what it was or did.

“Very good Delia,” Otho praised, “Now, I am going to use that box to _suck_ your ghost…” he paused for a moment to dab at his face, “Into it and trap him there forever! Are we ready to begin? Then, to the hatchback!”

“Oh Charles isn't this exciting?” Delia asked, bouncing on her feet, “This is the most exciting exorcism I’ve ever been to!”

“I'll be excited when I have my daughter back safe and sound,” Charles muttered darkly, following the other two back out the door, "Lord help us all."

BJ BJ BJ

Beetlejuice poked his head out, a little aggravated no one had taken the bait yet. How was he supposed to make certain Lydia would be with him if no one would act like the suckers they were? That was when he heard Lydia's boots thunder down the stairs. He quickly stashed the papers in his pocket, making sure she couldn't see what he was up to. She sounded mad, maybe he could get something quick out of it?

“Whoa, whoa Baby, where's the fire? What's wrong?”

Lydia looked to him and her anger deflated, “They wouldn’t do it,”

“What?”

“The Maitlands,” Lydia explained, “They wouldn’t go, they wouldn’t help me find my mom. I mean… they were going to at first and then Adam drew this door and he opened it and then he turned into some sort of zombie or whatever and Barbara closed it and tore up the pages and I just-” she grabbed a hold of his clothing and started tearing up, “I just wanna see my mom again Beej,”

He almost felt bad for her. Maybe he might have, had he not now needed to find a way to enact Plan B. And now, it was slightly more personal since they’d made his Lydia cry.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry Baby,” he brushed a tear away, “You want me to get rid of them? C'mon, I'll send 'em straight for the Lost Souls' Room.”

“No, no, it's not bad enough for... whatever that is it’s just,” Lydia huffed, “Those instructions, I never thought they’d refuse.”

“Yeah, they are kinda pushovers aren’t they?” remembering the conversation he’d overheard, he decided it might be a good time to warn her, “Anyways, we have other problems…”

But Lydia wasn’t listening to him, “Maybe… do you have any chalk?” Lydia asked, “Maybe I don’t need them. I can go to the Netherworld and find her myself, and you can come with me!”

“Eh!” he buzzed, “Remember Babes, I’m banished. Besides, even if you drew a door you wouldn’t be able to open a portal to the Netherworld. Honorary dead girl comes with the limitations, not a lot of perks. Besides, there’s something-”

“Well, can’t you draw it for me then?”

“I would, but Babes trust me when I say you don’t wanna go to the Netherworld.” he didn’t normally do honest, and he couldn’t say that he wasn’t motivated for selfish reasons, but Lydia didn’t belong in a place like that. She may have been fascinated by death, but she was so full of life and she didn’t even realize it. And he wasn’t about to let her throw it all away, “I… well alright I don’t get it per se, but I get wanting something. Sometimes though…” he sighed, “Sometimes you need to realize that there isn’t a way to get what you want. So you find a new thing to want. And anyways there’s-”

“But I don’t _want_ to do that!” Lydia exclaimed petulantly, “I want my mom back Beej. there has to be some way to get her back!”

“I know that Lydia,” Beetlejuice huffed, “But at the moment we kind of have other priorities here-”

“Like what?” Lydia countered, “We’ve been scaring people for three days, and I even let you have _sex_ with me. And you won’t even do this one thing for me? I don’t want much Beetlejuice, I just want the one person who ever gave a damn about me back and you can’t even do _that_? You’re supposed to be an all-powerful demon! But all you’re turning out to be is a whiny, needy, self-absorbed _jerk_!”

“Your mom is _gone_ Lydia!” Beetlejuice roared, a thousand pounds of baggage lacing his every word with pure malice, “She's in the Netherworld, dead, dead, deadski, and she _ain't_ comin' back. And I for one am _not_ gonna let you throw away everything we’ve done just to chase after some meaningless _stiff_!”

Lydia reared back from him like he’d just slapped her. She looked, heartbroken, betrayed, and most of all, angry, “You," she seethed, "You’re just like him.”

“What? Who the fuck are you talking about?” Beetlejuice asked, feeling his own ire rise in response.

“My dad, the Maitlands,” Lydia lashed at him, “Everyone who’s been treating me like nothing more than a child. Like what I want or feel doesn't matter. Like you and your pathetic freedom are so much more important than me seeing the one person who _loved_ me. At least when you were invisible, no one was ignoring you purposefully!” She panted hard at him, “So you know what Beetlejuice? You want to enjoy your freedom? Fine. You can do it by your damn self. I'm gonna leave, and I'm gonna go find someone, somewhere, who can help me find my mom!”

The air was chilled. Deathly chilled. And for someone who wore his metaphorical heart on his sleeve, who could explode with rage and terrify people with the sheer force of his inhuman emotions, Beetlejuice was oddly silent. For someone whose ire burned hot as a firebrand, he was nothing but ice and chill. And though he wasn’t that much taller than her, he suddenly seemed to loom, larger than life, larger than death. Her heart stopped for a beat or two. And in that moment Lydia almost felt afraid of him.

“Let’s get one thing straight here _little girl_ ,” he hissed in her ear, grabbing hold of her wrist to keep her from escaping him, “No one, ain’t _no one_ , living or dead, is like _me_. That’s something I’ve had made abundantly clear, and I won’t let some spoiled little brat dressed in black try to tell me otherwise. But speaking of being different, I’m disappointed that _you’re not_. You’re just like every other self-centered breather that goes around blindly; too consumed by their own petty problems and complaints to care about anyone else. You think it’s better that no one knew about me? Better that I wasn’t seen out of innocent ignorance? Try having to exist with the fact that _no one else knows you do_ And then, then I find you, someone who has a pulse and can see me. Someone who finally seems like there’s more to her than every spirit I’ve ever shuffled off to the Netherworld, and then she proves me wrong. You know what kid? Fine, I’ve done nothing except help you, done what _you_ wanted, even if it wasn’t something I wanted to do. And even now, here I am trying to warn you that Daddy dearest is back with his whore and some smug schmuck preacher man and they’re gonna try and suck someone into some stupid box. But that’s not what you wanna hear about now is it? So if you want your Mommy back, fine, but this is the last favor I do for you,” he let go of her and with a snap of his fingers, pages flew out from nowhere and magically knit themselves back into a fully bound and illustrated tome. And on its cover read, _Handbook for the Recently Deceased_.

He carelessly tossed the volume at her, “There ya go kid, have fun, I’m out,”

Beetlejuice began to walk away from her, when her voice stopped him,”So that’s it? You’re just giving up on me?”

“You’ve made it abundantly clear you’ve already given up on me,” Beetlejuice countered, “First rule of any good con is this: know when to walk away.”

“So what am I gonna do about my dad?” Lydia asked him, “About Delia, this preacher man, what did you say his name was?”

“Gaga Bobo?” Beetlejuice offered with a shrug, “He’s a secondary character at best, so I’m not really worried about it. I mean, who cares if the demon no one ever saw gets put in a stupid box to be trapped for all eternity? You certainly don’t.”

“Guru Otho,” she corrected gently, ”And anyways I...” Lydia paused a moment, still sorting through all the emotions currently warring for attention in her brain,“I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Right,” Beetlejuice rolled his eyes, “Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that. I’m gonna go chill on the roof until all this blows over. See ya,”

“But what am I supposed to do with this?” Lydia asked, “I don’t have time to read through all of it.”

“You want your mommy badly enough, I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Beetlejuice said dismissively, “Have fun going home with Daddy and trying to find your mom. Hopefully the Maitlands don’t do anything stupid and get themselves in trouble either.”

“What?”

“I heard the box was designed to suck up ghosts, not demons. Either way, I’m not taking any chances,”

“There has to be a way to stop them,” Lydia argued, now hurriedly flipping through pages, “Instead of walking away, why don't you get back here and _help_ me?”

“I'm done helping you,” Beetlejuice told her, “You wanted your mommy, I gave you the best way to try and do it. I'm not doing anymore favors. You wanna keep the Maitlands from getting sucked into that box, that book’s your best bet now,”

“At least give me a clue on where to look!”

“Try the table of contents, later Babes,” Beetlejuice said as he walked away. He'd only gotten a few steps when a devious smile curled his lips. This hadn't been an act of active maliciousness, but he couldn't help but realize he'd given an immensely powerful and dangerous book to an emotionally unstable teenage girl who had no idea of the damage it could do, and left her to fend for herself with a bunch of condescending adults all trying to tell her they knew what was best for her. No matter how you looked at it, it was a recipe for disaster, and one he couldn't _wait_ to take advantage of.

BJ BJ BJ

Lydia was hurriedly scanning down the table of contents trying to find a chapter on summoning a or other methods of contacting the spirit world. But, she supposed that that might be a bit hard considering the first page of the first chapter told ghosts to go directly to the Netherworld. She heard voices and footsteps outside and she quickly ran up to the second floor, hiding in the darkened hallway trying to desperately avoid detection and find the incantation that just had to be here. Beetlejuice had been too dismissive to be dishonest about this. If he cared, he would have been laying it on thicker than genuine maple syrup.

She heard her father struggling with whatever it was he was carrying. Ugh, the jerk, why did he have to come back now? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She didn’t want the man who refused to see her for what she was, _who_ she was. She wanted her mother, the one person who’d always understood her no matter what. And, she realized as she stumbled on the chapter that involved spectral summonings, maybe she could. All she would need to do is convince her father they were putting Beetlejuice in the box instead.

“Lydia!” she heard Barbara’s voice calling for her. Oh no, not the Maitlands. Not now. Not when there was a temperamental ghost catching box waiting for them downstairs. And especially not when she had a lead, a second chance at getting her mom back. Lydia quickly stashed the book behind a side table leg. It wasn’t as if they’d be able to see it in the dark lighting, but one could never be too careful.

“Lydia, I know you're going through a lot right now, but please listen to us," Adam began, "we have to find a way to get rid of Beetlejuice; you and your fa-ather can stay here with us as long as you want. But please don’t throw your life away. We… we’ll go to the Netherworld to help you find your mother, if that’s what it takes. We just can’t bear to see you suffering like this anymore!"

"Please," Barbara added, "We’re done being scared, but we’re afraid you might get hurt because of all this. I know you’re upset with us, but please, _please_ just listen-”

“I get it,” Lydia interrupted, eyes momentarily flicking downstairs where she heard further activity. Damn, she was running out of time! “And maybe I was a bit… harsh earlier it’s just… I just miss her so much. I’m sorry,”

Downstairs she could hear Delia asking about the supposed device, which reminded Lydia she needed to keep the Maitlands far away from it. So hurriedly she added, “We’ll find a way to deal with Beetlejuice later. For now, I need you two to go back in attic, quickly.”

“What?” Barbara and Adam looked confused, “But we just decided to stop being afraid of everything, to stop hiding. And now you want us to go right back to doing it?”

“Only this one last time,” Lydia pleaded, “My dad is here with Delia and her guru and some device that captures ghosts. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you two while I try and convince my dad to leave you alone. Please, I can’t lose someone else I care about, just do this one thing, for me.”

The Maitlands looked at each other one final time, speaking wordlessly. Then, they nodded, “Alright Lydia,” they agreed, “We’ll be in the attic. But please, call us if you need us.”

“I will,” Lydia heaved a sigh of relief. She watched them retreat back to the attic where they would hopefully be safe. She wasn’t sure the box was working, but she wasn’t about to take the chance by having them stray too close. Lydia grabbed the book from its hiding place and waited near the top of the stairs. Hopefully there would be some sort of cue.

Downstairs Charles was watching Delia and Otho put on some sort of routine as if it was performed. Jesus he had her hardwired and good. After all of this was over he was going to gently suggest Delia find another guru because this was looking less and less like an inspiring life coach and more like she was being indoctrinated into a beginner’s cult.

“Sucks-yes!” Otho proclaimed with a flourish, to which Delia responded with rapturous applause. Clearing his throat, the other man continued, “Now Charles, there is just one more thing we haven’t discussed yet,”

“And that would be?” Charles raised a brow, already certain of what the other man was going to say.

“My fee,” Otho responded, confirming Charles thoughts, “Now, normally I perform exorcisms pro-bono but! You did make me come all the way to Connecticut, and well, with the price of gas and all-”

“I get it,” Charles interrupted, “And you’ll get your money,” he assured the other man, “As soon as _I_ get my house back; _ghost free_.”

“Ah yes, but of course,” Otho nodded, “Now, let’s begin!”

Let’s begin indeed Lydia thought, running down the stairs and clutching at the book like a lifeline, “Dad! Dad!” and for good measure, “Daddy help!”

“Lydia!” Charles exclaimed, rushing to meet her as she ran into his arms. Delia, however, was still skeptical.

“Charles be careful, what if she’s possessed; what if it’s all a trap?”

Lydia pulled away long enough to shoot the other woman a withering glare, “Good to see you too Delia; still think your ex-husband ditching you for another dude happened for a reason?”

“Oh,” Delia suddenly looked very embarrassed, “Not possessed, my mistake!”

"What?" Charles asked, "You never told me that-"

"It's not important!" Delia quickly cut him off, "We're not here for that!"

Lydia sighed and shook her head before remembering what she was supposed to be doing, “Dad, I think I know a way we can get rid of him,”

“That’s what we’re here to do,” Charles assured her, “Otho here is going to suck that ghost into the soul box and we’ll be free. Then we’ll go home, back to New York, just like you wanted.”

She’d never believed her father would say something like that. And it almost made her forget what she needed to say, “I was… I was being stubborn too,” Lydia told him, “But Dad, I already heard him laughing about how some stupid little box of blinking lights wouldn’t be able to hold him. He's not a ghost, he's a demon. If you want to banish him, you’re gonna need something even more powerful than a machine.”

“Like what?”

And here Lydia presented the book, “This,” she told him, “I managed to sneak it away from him. For the past two nights I’ve been studying it, and I finally found something that might work.”

Charles looked at the cover, “ _Handbook for the Recently Deceased_?”

“It’s basically the book of the dead,” Lydia assured him, “This is the only way we’ll be able to beat him,”

“Charles,” Delia cut in, “We don’t need that book, we already have Otho,”

“Yes,” Charles agreed, “But that can be our backup plan. I’m done not listening to what my daughter has to say and not trusting in her. If she believes that this will get rid of that thing, then I’ll believe her. Otho, turn that damn thing off,”

“But-” the guru protested.

“I said, _off_ ,” Charles snarled at the man. And for a moment, it reminded Lydia of the gross playful sort of snarl he’d often use on her mother. Maybe the man her father had been was still in there somewhere.

Otho made a show of being super disappointed but shut the soul box off. He then looked at Lydia with his hands on his hips and a very miffed attitude, “Well then, now what?”

“Uhh…” Lydia honestly had thought there’d be more resistance than this, so she was a little unprepared. She opened the tome to the page she’d bookmarked and looked at the instructions, “It says we need to light a candle, and then hold hands.”

“Alright,” they walked over to the table, procured a long tapered candle and holder from the dining room cabinet, and lit it, sitting down around it and holding hands. Lydia set the book down on the table and joined them. This was it, all she needed to do was recite the incantation to summon the motherly spirit and then her mom would be with them again,

“Alright, here we go,” Lydia took a deep breath in, “Shade Maternal-”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Otho cried out, “I am the one doing the exorcism here, therefore _I_ get to say the words.”

“What?” Lydia couldn’t believe the immature audacity of this pompous egomaniac. An egomaniac to the point of making Beetlejuice himself look humble. Beetlejuice… Lydia sighed, damn, she kinda hope he stuck around, good sex was definitely going to be hard to find in a small town like this, it was hard enough to find in New York City and that was one of the most heavily populated places in the world. She huffed, not wanting to argue with him, “Alright, fine, but hurry up!”

Otho plucked the book from her seat. And Lydia suddenly didn’t want to be a part of the circle. She wanted to watch her father’s reaction as her mother appeared before them. So she stood off to the side and watched as Otho began to speak,

“‘Hans Vermillion, start of five. Bright Cotillion, raven’s dive. Nightshade’s promise, spirits strive. To the living, let now the dead _come alive_ ’!”

Thunder crashed, lightning flashed, and the candle flame began to flicker ominously. But wait. Wait, wait, wait; this didn’t sound right. Yet before Lydia could say anything, Otho kept going. And something was happening, a form was materializing out of the light. But it wasn’t her mother’s.

BJ BJ BJ

Up in the attic the Maitlands were still hurriedly pacing the length of the space. Lydia had said she was going to try and convince her father to leave the house, and go with him. It likely wouldn't solve the Beetlejuice problem, but they'd have their house back and with no living girl here to entertain him he'd likely peter off and they could get their post-mortem existence somewhere resembling a track. Barbara was handling the anxiety of not knowing the worst of all, and Adam stopped his own pacing to hold her by the shoulders, silently assuring her everything would be alright. They sat on some boxes, Barbara placing her hand down and Adam going to place his hand atop it. But that didn't happen. His hand went right through hers. They looked in curiosity and fear at her dematerializing hand, as the rest of her began to fade too. She moved her lips, attempted to say something, likely his name but no sound escaped her even as she began to panic and frantically reach for him.

"Barbara?" he questioned, as though she might know what was happening to her.

 _"Adam!"_ came the soundless response as she screamed before disappearing from his sight completely.

"Barbara!" Adam screamed, angry and terrified for his wife. He stood from the boxes and raced for the door, slamming it open as he headed for the stairs. Something was going wrong here, and he wasn't about to sit idly by while it did.

BJ BJ BJ

“‘As sudden thunder, pierces night. As magic wonder, mad of fright. Rise asunder, man’s delight. Our ghost, our corpse, as we rise to be’.”

Clearer and clearer the female visage became. But despite all hopes and prayers, it wasn't her mother. It wasn't Emily. Naturally, the wrong spell had summoned the wrong ghost. No. No, no, no! Everything was going wrong! The person they'd summoned was… “Barbara?” came Lydia’s hushed, horrified gasp.

Charles watched as what materialized before him was not the grotesque form of the monster from his nightmares, but instead a beautiful woman in an old housedress. He’d seen the pictures, this was one of the people who had owned the house. But Jane had never told him they’d died. She’d told him they’d moved out, unable to bear living in a house with no kids to fill it, and had given her control of selling it. She was looking around, confused and disoriented, speaking but unable to make a sound. And then, then he saw the way she looked to Lydia, and if it was possible to fall in love from just a look, he might have said he’d done it. And he wanted to tell Otho to stop, that this wasn’t the ghost they were looking for, but he was too dazed to speak properly. A sound of footsteps rushing down the stairs caught his attention for a moment and he saw another man, the other previous owner, rushing down and looking up at his former wife in fear.

“Barbara!” he exclaimed, trying to reach for her only to be pushed back by Lydia as she warned him not to get too close. And still, Otho kept speaking,

“‘As flies the lizard, serpent fell. As goblin visit, at the spell. The buried, dead, and slain, rise again’!”

And with that final pronouncement, came the most horrible sound of all. An ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream. The woman, Barbara arched and writhed in pain. And Charles watched Lydia look on in horror.

“No, no, no!” she cried helplessly, “That was the wrong incantation!”

“No,” Otho chided her, unduly smug, “It says here very clearly, “How to get rid of a demon" here at the top of the page.”

Demon? But Barbara wasn’t a- Beetlejuice. Somehow, she knew he had something to do with this. But she could be mad at him later, right now she needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

“Lydia,” Charles asked her, “what do you mean this was the wrong incantation? What was the one you were going to read supposed to do?”

“More importantly,” Adam cut in, “What’s happening to my wife!”

“I…” Lydia felt more helpless than she’d ever felt before, “I don’t know. I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen. The spell was supposed to bring back Mom and now-”

“That spell was supposed to do _what_?” Charles stood, breaking the chain and causing Barbara to let out another scream of pain, “What’s happening to that poor woman?”

“Exorcism,” a voice hissed, smug and menacing as it echoed all around them, “Otherwise known as; death for the dead!”

A curdling cackle followed the proclamation and in a puff of smoke Beetlejuice appeared, still chuckling menacingly. He surveyed the seance’s handiwork with an appraising eye and laughed again, “Gotta hand it to you Lydia, when you fuck up, you fuck up big time, dontcha? Just look at this!” He gestured to where Barbara remained suspended in the air, now looking like she was starting to decay.

"H-how did you know what was going on?" Lydia asked, unable to believe he'd come this quickly if he hadn't been watching.

"You said it yourself Baby," he reminded her, "This is _my_ house now, ain't nothin' that can happen in it that I'm not aware of."

“You!” Adam hissed, “What did you do to my wife!”

“Who me?” Beetlejuice pointed you himself, “Nothing, Lydia’s the one you're gonna wanna point that finger at,”

“Lydia?” Adam turned to her.

“I told you, I never meant for this to happen, I just wanted to bring my mom back!” She turned on Otho, “ _He’s_ the one who read the wrong incantation!”

“And _you're_ the one who gave him the book, now ain’tcha?” Beetlejuice chuckled, “But hey, I guess this is what you get when you want your mommy back at any cost now isn't it?”

“You're the one who gave me the book in the _first place_!” Lydia argued with him, “This… this was all your doing wasn't it? What did you do!”

“Like I said, I didn't do nothin’” Beetlejuice reminded her, “I mean, hey; did I give you a book full of dangerous stuff without warning you about the consequences? Well yeah, but I'm not the one who made you read an exorcism spell now am I?” He rolled down a sleeve as if indicating total transparency, “Sure, I gave an ancient, powerful, and dangerous book to an emotionally unstable breather, my bad,” he said not sounding in the least bit sorry, “But that's what you get when you seek knowledge not meant for mortal eyes now isn't it?”

“You've made your point,” Lydia’s gaze hurriedly darted between him standing there all smug and Barbara looking older and older by the moment, “Now make it stop! She's dying! Again!”

He chuckled as if he’d been waiting to hear those words, “Sure Babes,” he agreed, “But remember what I said before I left earlier? I ain't doing anymore favors for anyone. So if you want this stopped, I'm gonna need a little something in return,”

Not really paying attention and assuming he meant open access to her body, Lydia looked at him, “And if I refuse?”

“Well, I guess we can sit back and enjoy the show then,” he said, casting a hand over to Barbara and doing something with his magic to make her scream again, “Now ain't that a beautiful sound?”

“Stop hurting her!” Lydia yelled, running over to him and beating against his chest, “Just tell me what you want!”

“Well see, it's like this;” Beetlejuice informed her, “I'm whatcha might call an illegal alien, okay? I want out, fer _good_ : no more chains, no more cursed name, and no more being cast aside when people are done with me,” he added, voice a hard edge as he looked into her eyes.

Lydia only now realized what her preoccupation with her mother might have looked like to him. She almost felt bad, but she'd been carrying that wound for six months and was running out of options. Besides, this was no way to go about _anything_.

His smirk grew colder, crueler, and Lydia hated the traitorous reaction she felt stirring in her blood. And that was when he added, “So if you want to save Barbara, then I need you,” and here he dropped to one knee before her, taking one of her hands in his own, “To marry me.”

There was a beat of silence, everyone else too shocked to say anything. And then, a collective disgusted, disbelieving, _“WHAT!”_

Beetlejuice looked around, slightly amused and asked, “Would it make you feel better if I said it was a green card thing?”

“No!”

He chuckled, “Didn't think so,”

“I don't care what kind of marriage it is she’s not marrying you!” Charles moved to stand between his daughter and the monster that had kept her trapped here.

“Now see; that's cute,” Beetlejuice said, a repugnant smirk on his face as he regarded his potential future father in law, “But I asked the lady, not you.” And he threw some magic Charles’s way, causing the man to stumble back and become chained to the wall.

“Now you wait one minute!” Adam attempted to intervene, only to end up with a metal band over his mouth. He made muffled sounds of protest to no avail.

Beetlejuice turned his attention to the remaining people a moment, “Anyone else want to try and object?” When Delia and Otho mutely shook their heads he nodded, “Good,” and turned his eyes back on Lydia, “So, whaddya say Lydia?”

“I…” Lydia hesitated, looking back and forth between Barbara and him. And he could tell she was hesitating. Her heart was good, but it was still a difficult decision to make. And yet, his ego would not allow him to let her get away with hesitating over something like this considering everything they’d shared otherwise.

“Oh what?” he asked her, rising from his knee and placing his hands on his hips, “You let me violate you all over the damn house but here I am down on one knee, proposing marriage, trying to make an honest woman out of you and you’re suddenly too good for me?”

“She did _what_?” Charles roared, and Beetlejuice could hear the man’s blood pressure rising. But his attention was riveted to his soon to be fiancee, and her her angry and embarrassed expression.

"Seriously?" Lydia hissed back at him, clenching her fists because she didn't know what else to do with them, "We're doing this _now_?"

“'Scuse me Babydoll, but you were the one who propositioned me, asked _me_ to fuck _you_ , stuck my hand under your damn creamed panties and told me to get rid of our unwanted visitors as fast as possible so I could, and I quote, ‘take care of it’ for you, remember?" Beetlejuice shot back, "But all of a sudden, I’m not good enough to marry? Well, I guess we know how much you care about Babs now don’t we?”

“Will you stop acting like an ass!” Lydia snapped at him. She felt humiliated, deceived, and fooled in more ways than one. At the very least he thought they might protect the intimacies and small happiness of those shared moments by not bringing them up in front of her own father. She might have been more willing if he had. As it was, she was still torn, upset and hurt by his callous behavior, “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You wanted to get rid of me,” Beetlejuice told her coldly, “An' I’m tired of being alone. Life is the only way out of that.”

“You don’t know the first thing about life,” Lydia hissed at him, “All you’ve done is watch from the sidelines your entire existence!”

“Keep talkin’ Babes,” Beetlejuice seemed almost amused, “I’m sure Babs can hold out a little longer, might be a little crispier than you’re used to but-”

“Lydia no!” Charles argued, not wanting his daughter to tie herself to someone, to a life that wouldn’t make her happy for the sake of someone else’s selfish whims. Even if it was to save the only mother figure she had left.

Lydia looked to Barbara, now crumbling to dust above the table. And her heart broke. She’d already lost a mom once, she couldn’t let it happen again. Not while she had the power to do something about it. Lydia shook her head as she glanced to her father, “I don’t have a choice,” she told him, hoping, _willing_ him to understand why she was doing what she was doing, “It’s my fault she’s dying,”

Barbara let out one final scream of pain. But the agony in this one might have been one more at Lydia’s unspoken decision than the pain of dying all over again. Lydia felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t been so selfish, if she’d found a way to grieve that didn’t involve getting her mother back at the cost of everyone else, maybe none of this would have happened. If she hadn’t believed that meeting the Maitlands was a sign from Dead Mom, if she’d left them to their own devices instead of using them to get back at her father… but it was too late for what ifs, all she could do now was try to pick up the pieces of the mess she had made.

Lydia took a deep breath in, and let it out with a shudder, “Okay,” her surrender came not with a bang, but with a broken whisper, “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you!”

For someone who seemed to know he held all the cards, Beetlejuice’s reaction was something she could only describe as shocked elation. Had he really thought she would let Babrara die all over again rather than tie herself to him forever? Did he really think her that shallow? And perhaps more importantly from an introspective standpoint, had she ever done anything that might make him think otherwise? Lydia felt guilt begin to crush her as she quickly reflected on the last couple of days. She’d discarded the Maitlands without a second thought when they proved themselves ineffectual, she’d seduced a demon with intimacy issues (among a whole plethora of others she’d never cared to ask about) and then dropped him like a hot potato the moment a better opportunity presented itself. She’d been nothing but morose and downright obstinate to even trying to process her grief, miring herself in it and wrapping it around her like it was some sort of trendy accessory. Because… who was Lydia without her mother? The realization that she’d been avoiding up until now was that… she honestly didn’t know.

But Barbara was safe. Lowered to the table with her spectral form quickly reverting itself to its state et mortem. She looked completely drained. And as Adam and her father were both released they rushed to one on the tabletop trying to help her to her feet. And was she imagining the strange expression on her father’s face as he almost reluctantly handed her over to her husband? The Maitlands cowered as Beetlejuice hopped around like a child on a sugar rush. And then she watched as from nowhere he pulled a small piece of chalk and dragged it against the wall, all the while chattering on obliviously about how good it was going to feel once he was finally free. And then came the knock. Once, twice, thrice.

That door opened, and the Maitlands were too close this time. They began to be sucked in as Beetlejuice walked away and left them to it.

“Time for you deadbeats to finally see the Netherworld. Thanks for playing, see ya suckers!”

And perhaps it was foolish, given the brief introspection she’d just completed. But desperation tended to block any rational thinking abilities. So what was running through Lydia’s mind was not the repercussions of what action might bring. Not of who might be affected when she left them behind. Like Gatsby with his green light at the end of Daisy’s dock, she saw only the thing she felt like she had been reaching for, yearning for, for far too long. So when her husband to be came to stand by her looking incredibly proud of herself, she decided to use her feminine influence over him one final time.

“Wait!” she grabbed a hold of the lapels on his suit.

“Yes dear?” he asked her, already fully devoting himself to the role of doting spouse.

“Can you at least let me say goodbye?” she batted her eyes and pouted her lips and pushed her arms together so that her chest appeared bigger than it was. All an effort to get her way. When he faltered, trying to remain staunch and the villain -a role her body would agree he played far too well- she pushed herself closer to him, running her hands along his arms and batted her eyes again, “Please?”

He sighed, in that half-aggravated half-affectionate manner one might see of people truly in love. But Beetlejuice couldn’t be in love with her, because he didn’t know what love was. And frankly, neither did she, “Oh alright,” he conceded, “But make it snappy, I want cake!”

With another snap the pull of the Netherworld ceased and Lydia ran to the Maitlands, embracing them tightly and pushing them further away from the portal as she slowly back stepped towards it. She could feel the chill growing against her back, and the settled weight of the chalk he’d used to open the door in her dress’ hidden pocket. Since she’d always been busy with her mother, there had been plenty of trouble to get into. And while her mother could be responsible when she needed to be, she’d also told Lydia that it wasn’t bad to have a few less than savory skills to help her survive.

Which was how Lydia knew how to pickpocket, though her father was well off enough that she’d rarely needed to use it for anything outside of pulling tricks for her own amusement. She had a way to get back if she needed it, not that she would. Lydia felt her mother calling to her from beyond like a siren, one whose song she had no intention to resist. And sure, it would have been easy enough to simply leave while her fiance busied himself with fretting about preparations. But something about her own ego wouldn’t allow her to leave without letting him know she’d gotten one over on him. And so, in the brattiest tone she could muster, she called out,

“Hey! Beetlejuice!” he turned to look at her, an expression of confusion worth every second of a headstart she lost just standing there, “I’m going to the Netherworld to find my mom. Thanks for playing, see ya sucker!” and with that she turned and ran, into the abyss, and into the unknown, with only one desire pushing her forward.

Charles watched the gates to Hell open, and Lydia without hesitation jump into them. But he’d already lost his wife, he wasn’t about to lose her too. As everyone began to freak out, trying to go after her, a sense of strange calm, strength, and adrenaline filled his body. He forced his way through the crowding group, knocking anyone friend or foe who might bar his way to his daughter. Chasing her mother into the world of death, this had gone too far. And Charles was determine to help his daughter before she made the biggest mistake of her life, giving it away.

Beetlejuice stood there, still as a statue. Watching, just watching. Watching as his fiancee abandoned him, watching as her father chased after her, watching as the Maitlands cried out in fear and panic as the door shut on the both of them. Locking everyone out. He could go back. He could open up the door and go after her, banishment be damned. She’d made a deal and he could force her to abide by it. But tracking down Lydia was now the last thing on his mind. Because it was just another repeat of his entire existence. Everyone leaving him yet again. Only there for a good time, never a long time. And his one shot at changing all that had leapt into Hell seeing it as the better alternative. Emotional baggage and self-loathing on the rise, he decided the best course of action was to take it out on everyone else around him, shaking his fist at the heavens and asking God himself,

“WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP LEAVING ME!” as if a monster like him would ever be graced with an answer. He already knew he wouldn’t, because it wasn’t the first time he’d asked. Then he looked around. Oh well, plenty of toys to break in the mean time. He took a deep breath and calmed himself a little, “Okay… new plan. You’re _all_ gonna die, _today_!”

Everyone began to ran, and he set his sights on the one who had caused part of this problem in the first place. Delia’s little guru, Otho. The man had been cowering behind the couch the whole damn time. Might be fun to make him piss his pants in terror. Maybe eschew the scares and go right for sadistic physical and psychological torture. He was certainly in the mood to watch someone bleed.

“Oh ho ho,” Beetlejuice chided as Otho began to run, stalking the man with controlled, determined steps, “Not so fast soap box boy,” the beast had been awakened, and now he was bound and determined to hunt down his prey, “We’re gonna play a little game!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about this chapter, because I use Google docs so I can work on the fic from anywhere, that include my phone which provided the funniest blooper that didn't make it in but I want to share with you here. So basically, when Beetlejuice says, "But I was talking to the lady, not you," my phone corrected the sentence to this, "But I was talking to the lay, not you," which, considering the context was hilarious and not at all wrong. So, hope you enjoyed both the chapter and that little tidbit. Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


	10. Where the Heart is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... another short chapter I know but you'll see why I kind of wanted this to be its own thing by the time it's over. Hope you all enjoy!

There was this sort of philosophical conundrum of what one should do when faced with the abyss. Does one turn away from the darkness within, or does one stare into the abyss even knowing that it stares right back? What measure of character does it speak to depending on the decision? While Lydia was single-mindedly determined to find her mother, she couldn't help but wonder what someone viewing her actions from the outside might think of her. Would they call her courageous and brave, risking everything to see the one person she loved most one final time? Or would they say she was a fool, that she was giving up far too much for far too little? She supposed it didn’t matter now, there was no way to go back home, not unless she could find a piece of chalk. And even then, she was alive, she doubted that if it didn’t work to get in it would to get out. The abyss was stark, cold, empty, black. Much like her heart had been in her mother’s absence. But with a little luck, this would all change soon.

“Lydia!” She heard her name being called, from far enough away that she wasn't sure of who was saying it. And for a moment her heart nearly stopped. Was it… was it _him_? Had he come after her to drag her back and finish their deal? She knew she had reneged on him, but he couldn't be _that_ upset with her right? But then she saw who it was,

“Dad?” she couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible. Her father couldn’t be here. He should have been back in Winter River trying to rebuild his life. He didn’t need her to do that, and yet, here he was, looking at her like she was the most precious thing in his existence.

“Oh my god,” Charles heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t lost her. She was still here. Charles raced over to his child and held her tight, “Are you alright?”

Lydia remained motionless as he hugged her. When was the last time her father had hugged her? Before Mom had… before their world had fallen apart, at least. He shouldn’t have _been_ here. She felt guilt tear her apart at everything he had left behind. He had the chance to start over, he'd wanted to move forward. How could he possibly expect to do that when he’d chased after a living reminder of the past? But despite all that, the embrace felt… good. It felt almost like home. And home was something she hadn’t felt in months. Even so, she pulled back and asked him, “You followed me?”

“Of course I did,” Charles looked at her, “I couldn’t just let you throw your life away chasing after-” he paused a moment, “What is this place?”

With a flash of light, there came someone, and, the answer to his question. A tall woman with green skin, a glitzy outfit, a clipboard, and a sash draped over her that read ‘Miss Argentina’.

“Bienvenidos a the Netherworld,” she greeted, strutting over to them like the pageant girl she had probably once been, “Welcome, welcome. I am the once, and forever, Miss Argentina!” she introduced herself, “But you can call me Tina for short,”

Lydia tilted her head to the side, “Once and forever?”

“Si,” Miss Argentina replied, “I died with this sash, and they canno’ take it away now,” she chuckled at her own joke, accent causing her to drop some letters or change their pronunciation completely, and strutted closer, hips sashaying as she’d likely been taught, “Alright, le’s begin the process,” she peered at Lydia a moment, “Where’s your handbook?” when Lydia stared blankly Tina put a hand on a popped out hip, “What? You don’t have a handbook?” she looked to Charles, “Why don’t you have a handbook?” and she rolled her eyes as she “figured out” what was supposedly going on, “Are you trying to skip the line?”

“Line?” Lydia asked, “Line for what?”

Tina rolled her eyes again, tucking her clipboard under her arm as she emphasized her words with punctuated claps, “Did you even read? The hand book?” and here she shot the girl a deadpan look, “What else do you have to do? You die, you read the book, you come here, you get in line. Das it,”

“Okay but… line for what?” Lydia asked, still confused.

“Ay dios mio,” Tina muttered under her breath, “Allow me to make this perfectly clear: you are _dead_ bambi, there’s no much you have to worry about any more,”

“But I’m not dead,” Lydia countered.

“I know, everyone wishes they weren’t chica,” Tina shook her head in a sympathetic manner, “And it can be quite an adjustment, you wake up and bam, you don’ ‘ave a pulse anymore. But, you’ll get used to it, I promise,” she went to add in another gesture, patting Lydia’s cheek, when something registered to her, “Warm… you’re…” Tina looked at her a bit more closely and then shook her head, shocked beyond belief, “But, tha’s impossible. A living girl, in the land of the dead?” she asked, reaching for Lydia’s wrist and feeling the pulse.

“Ah, and her father,” Charles added, coming in to stand at his daughter’s side.

Tina shook her head, “You, you’re not supposed to be here,” she seemed, almost frightened, as though this were something that could shatter normalcy as she knew it, “You need to leave, you gotta get out of here fast, before Juno sees you… or worse.” she broke off into mutterings, shivering despite the fact that it had always been cold here in the realm of death.

“No,” Lydia shook her head, “I’m not going back, I’m going to find my mom!”

“Lydia!” Charles hissed, “You can’t-”

“Well isn’t that nice?” Tina laughed mirthlessly, “Ah, you Breathers never know what you got until it’s too late. Don’t you know just about everyone here would go back in a heartbeat, if they had one?”

“Seriously?” Lydia couldn’t believe it, “What’s so great about life? Losing the people you care about?”

Tina clucked her tongue and shook her head, “Mira bambina,” she slung an arm around Lydia and gestured to where more dead people seemed to be coming out of nowhere, “Look around you, _this_ is all that awaits you here in the Netherworld.”

Charles winced and stepped closer, laying a protective hand at Lydia’s back as he watched people who all seemed to have met the most gruesome of fates before shuffling off into eternity. A man who look like burnt bacon, a jockey with shoe marks all over her body and face, some poor swimmer with a shark still gnawing at one of his legs, the list went on and on. Perhaps the worst was the man with the shrunken head and stitched mouth. It wasn’t particularly horrific but it was disturbing to look at with the bulging eyes that appeared to take up half the minute face.

“Is this what being dead is like?” he whispered, unable to believe that however he died would very likely affect the way he looked for the rest of eternity.

“Do you listen at all?” Tina asked him, “Escuchame, por favor let me explain; this is what being dead looks like for me, that,” she indicated a football player killed in a crash probably enroute to a game, “Is what death looks like for him, and that,” she indicated a bride with a snapped neck and a groom with an axe sticking out of his, “Is what death looks like for them. You see, it’s all very personal. And I’ll tell you another thing. If I knew then, what I know now,” she chuckled, “I wouldn’t have had my little ‘accident’,” she explained, holding up her wrists so they could see the deep gashes in them. The other corpses laughed at the levity for some reason.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lydia was here, and now she was bound and determined to see her decision through, “I’ve come this far I can’t give up now.”

“Sweet pea,” Tina bent a little so she could be at eye level with the teenager, “I am only telling you this because I know what’s waiting. Everyone here?” she gestured to the new arrivals, “Is alone. But you, you’re still there, still breathing, so I strongly suggest you go home.”

Lydia looked at her father a moment before saying the one thing she’d been longing to say to him for months but never had the chance to, “I don’t have a home anymore.”

Charles felt his heart breaking as he watched Lydia say what she said. Had he really been so callous? Perhaps, but so had she. Not that he had helped her to understand. How could he? When he’d still been trying to process it all himself? But while some damage had already been done, he could stop it from getting worse, from there being pieces too broken for him to ever pick up and put back together.

“And you think you gonna find one here?” Miss Argentina let out a breath of mirthless laughter, “Look around you, do you see the one thing all these poor souls have in common?” when Lydia shook her head no Tina sighed, “Regret my dear. Regret for a life not well lived or spent. Do you know how many times we let fear and regret take control of us? Or, cause us to think that death is the only way out of all the pain and suffering? Too many. You wanna be stuck here forever? Doing civil service? Because tha’s what awaits you. Not a home, not a familia, just an endless abyss of files and paperwork, all on your own.”

“Funny,” Lydia scoffed as she folded her arms, “I thought that was how most people wasted their _life_.”

She didn’t have to say his name, but Charles knew the barb was aimed at him. He didn’t have any way to deny it, especially not since what had happened with Emily. But he still had a life left, and he didn’t want to waste any of it trying to pretend things were okay. He wanted to change, to be honest, with himself and with his daughter. But he couldn’t do it in a place that was a monument to every mistake he had made trying to avoid an outcome that was in fact inevitable.

“Lydia please,” he beseeched his daughter, “Let’s go home, there’s…” he paused a moment, “There’s something I need to talk to you about-”

Before she could answer there came a shrill, ear piercing shout, “Attention new meat! All recently deceased individuals; form a line!”

Everyone stiffened, including Tina. hurriedly she stepped in front of the Deetzes as someone entered. At first glance, she didn’t look all that intimidating: she was short, even in the heels, and had a very business casual look in her dark suit and red blouse. Until one looked a little more closely and saw the darker patterns of blood spatter stains on the clothing. A black bob curled at the ends with twin streaks of white shot through at the bangs. She almost looked like those old Hollywood bride of Frankensteins. Pulling a cigarette out of nowhere she took a drag and cast an aspertative look at the crowd, meanwhile Miss Argentina kept herself between Charles and Lydia and the woman.

“This can’t be good,” Charles muttered, keeping Lydia tight to him as they slowly backed up.

“M-Miss ‘ypatia,” she stumbled over her words, nervousness rolling off her in waves, “Is there something wrong? You never come down to inspect the new arrivals,”

“I know,” the woman took a drag and let it out, “And believe me, some one made sure the higher ups knew about it,” her tone was like ice, clearly she wasn’t happy about that little fact, “Aye,” she groaned, “Let a Lovecraftian horror entity into your pants one damn time, and ya never stop paying for it. And sadly,” she sighed, “Ten thousand years civil service in the bureaucracy of the dead wasn’t even the _worst_ part of that whole night. Anyways,” she took another drag, “I suppose some introductions are in order. So… here we go.

“My name is Hypatia Draconius, and you all; are dead,” there were a couple of shocked gasps. Were there seriously souls that weren’t aware of this already? Hypatia continued, “Now, it is my job to ensure a smooth transition out of the overbearing emotional turmoil of life, and into the world of numb, solitary, apathetic oblivion that awaits each and every one of you in the infinite lonely abyss that we call; the Netherworld. Once you pass through this gate over here,” she gestured to an odd white arch that began to glow, “You will enter into the Netherworld’s Waiting Room. Once there, you will be assigned a case number and will wait there until it is time to be introduced to your caseworker. Keep in mind, you only get three intermediary intercession vouchers to be used with each caseworker who has about a thousand cases open at any given time. In other words; you’re not special, don’t act like it! Now, once you have met your case worker you will be assigned a role in the Netherworld, don’t bother complaining, this assigned position cannot be repealed. Some of you may qualify for low-income probationary haunting, but keep in mind; there are a limited number of slots and it comes with the risk of exorcism which victims of will be transferred to the Lost Souls Room where they writhe and rot in torment for the rest of eternity. Now, form a line and proceed through the pulse-checker so we can get this over with.”

Hypatia stepped to the side and gestured to the archway with her cigarette, “Oh, and one other thing… NO LIQUIDS! Either you drink it, or you throw it out!”

As the crowd began to proceed one by one through the archway Lydia broke free from her father’s grip and went up to the apparent head honcho, “My mom’s dead,” Lydia began, “Is she in there?”

Hypatia gave her a withering look which spoke of the unspoken questioning of the younger woman’s intelligence, “Everybody who’s ever died is in there,” she answered, “But whatever it is you think you’re looking for sweetie, you’re not gonna fi-” she paused as she seemed to take a closer look at Lydia, “Well, then again,” she reconsidered, “I _have_ been wrong about things before,” Hypatia gave off a smirk that was somehow too conniving and cruel to be genuine. But given the woman’s disposition it could have just as easily been a facet of her face, “How do you think I got stuck with a job like this? Now, who did you say you were looking for again?”

“My mother,” Lydia answered as Hypatia walked her closer and closer to the archway, “You’re sure I can find her in there?”

“No one’s ever sure of anything,” Hypatia replied, “But it’s not like trying could kill ya… again, of course.”

“Right…” Lydia said hesitantly, “Again…” she looked back to where her father stood, watching her with fearful eyes, “Just… give me a minute,”

And she ducked out from under Hypatia’s grip and went straight for her father. She hadn’t had faith in bringing the chalk with her, but better to have a stick than no weapon at all right? Now, she was glad she’d taken it. She could use it to send him back. Where he belonged, in the world of life, while her world was now nothing but death.

“Dad,” she murmured to him, taking the chalk and placing it in his hand, curling his fingers over it so that it could remain hidden. If Tina’s remarks about the desperation some souls might have to go back, and if drawing a door in here would work in reverse, the piece in her hand was worth its weight in gold, “Take this, draw a door, go back. I’m going to find Mom. And…” she thought of how she had so abruptly left everyone, “Tell them I’m sorry, but I had to do this. Tell them… tell them I’m happy now.”

“Lydia please wait,” Charles whispered back to her, “I really need to tell you something, and it’s something I should have said a long time ago but-”

“Alright, that’s enough time for goodbyes!” Hypatia broke in and separated them, “Come on, you’re holding up the line.” and with a sweeping gesture she pushed Lydia through the archway, where instead of the calm green it turned a flashing angry red as it screamed like a car alarm. But Hyptatia was the only one who should have looked surprised and didn’t. She laughed as she silenced the gate with the snap of her fingers, “Aha! I knew it! You’re still alive aren’t you? Well,” she smirked, and this time there was no mistaking the malice and sadistic glee in her grin, “We can take care of that. New meat!” with another snap of her fingers all the recently deceased stood at attention, like they were being possessed or something. Well, Beetlejuice had made it clear that even ghosts could be put under a more powerful entity’s influence. Hypatia hissed like a damn serpent as she ordered them, “Take care of it!”

And suddenly they were shuffling towards her. And for the first time, Lydia felt afraid of death. Logically, she shouldn’t have. Being dead meant being with Mom forever, which had been her plan from the start. But that innate human fear -and probably a good dose of her own vanity- wouldn’t allow her to go out like this. So she began to run. She heard her father calling her name, which was probably going to put him under no amount of suspicion. But she couldn’t stop to make sure he was okay. Lydia had come here to find her mother, and while that was now going to be slightly more difficult what with all the dead folks chasing her, she was bound and determined to see it through. The Netherworld very much lived up to its hype. No matter which direction she ran in there seemed to be nothing. Just an endless, infinite abyss. Hallways and doors and more hallways. No escape in sight. And when she would open one door, sometimes there would be nothing. Total nothingness. Her hear bounded, her lungs burned between the exertion and the stale dusty air, her legs threatened to give out. And though she knew she should be wary about giving away her location when she was being actively chased, she felt so frightened, so terrified, that all she wanted was her mother’s loving embrace.

“Mom!” Lydia called, hoping, praying for a response. She ran and ran, searching, seeking, and failing at every turn. “Mom? MOM! WHERE ARE YOU!”

But there was no answer. Here, in the one place Lydia was certain her mom would be able to hear her without fail, there was nothing. Over and over she screamed, wailed, begged for there to be something, _anything_ that might indicate her mother was here. That she was coming for her. That all of this pain and heartache and yearning hadn’t been in vain. That Hypatia had in fact been wrong, and that she could find the one person who had brought her this far. So why wouldn’t her mother _answer_? Lydia managed to hide in one of the rooms. Another infinite pit of darkness and shadows. But the shadows had never before felt so isolating, so cold, so alone. The chill of the land of the dead sank deeper and deeper. Past her bones, winding its way into her very core, icy tendrils piercing into her heart, sucking away life, heat, hope, all of it. Lydia sank to her knees, slamming a fist against the ground. Where was Mom?

Lydia let out a shuddering breath. All she’d sacrificed, all she’d given up. And for what? She’d always been so sure that if she could just get her mother back, if she could even just see her one last time, everything would become clear. She’d have direction, purpose again. But was her mother really the anchor to her world? What could she do without her? Where did she go from here?

“Mom, please,” she whispered broken and alone as tears began to stream down her face, “I need you here, I need your help. I can’t do this anymore.”

She was tired. So tired. Tired of talking to herself, tired of feeling as alone and isolated as she had for months on end. All she wanted seemed out of reach, unattainable. Had Beetlejuice been right? Had she set her sights too high? Should she have been content with the way things were? No… no. Lydia knew the truth. She never would have given up. Not even if the Maitlands had gone in her stead. She would have held on to that tiny ember of hope until she died herself. But this… she had plunged herself into the abyss and what did she have to show for it? A horde of angry dead people trying to kill her, a father who had given up everything chasing after his suicidally minded child, and no mother to show for all her troubles. It was cold. So cold. Like the emptiness of space, a mindless vacuum that sucked up everything in its wake and left nothing to ever show what had been there before. And as much as she wanted to hold on, to believe that she would be lucky, be different… the truth of the matter was that it was very likely she could search for all eternity and never see her mother’s face again. What had they all said? About wasting a life like this? Was this what they had meant by it?

But… what was the alternative? She’d meant what she said when she’d told Miss Argentina she didn’t have a home anymore. Home was the place where one belonged. Where their hearts resided. And Lydia knew in her heart of hearts that she belonged with her mother. So where did that leave her now? Lydia felt lost, confused, and more childish than she ever had. Beaten and bruised with no clear idea of what the rules she was supposed to play by were anymore. All of it having changed since her mother went away. Life was a game, that was the way Mom had always seen it. But what was the point of playing now? She'd already lost. She'd lost _everything_. Emily was gone, but Lydia still remained. And it was hard. So hard to navigate. Where was she going, where had she been? Where to next? Was there anywhere else to even _go_ now?

Lydia knew where she _wanted_ to go. Where she wanted to _be_. She wanted to go back. Back to the time of her happiness. Back to the house in New York where everything had been okay. When her father’s smile had been genuine. When the sound of laughter filled the halls. When the only screams one ever heard were screams of joy as she was picked up by a father who had seemed like a superhero at the time. Back to the time when life’s biggest complications were scraping her knee and having her mother there to kiss it better. Or to tell her it would leave a cool scar to tell the other kids about. Mama always made things better. So why couldn’t she be here to fix things now?

Lydia clutched tightly to the folds of her clothes. Holding herself as though if she could physically hold herself together it would keep everything from falling apart. But it already had. The bridges had been burned, chasing after this one unattainable goal. Terrified of letting it, of letting _her_ go. Was there no way back? Was this truly the end? It felt like it. No light above and no hope below. Where, which way was home? She didn't know. Standing here, having come all this way with her heart in her hands, begging and pleading for an answer to her prayers. If Mom would only speak she'd understand. Just a word, one single word, something to tell her she wasn't alone. If her mother didn't want her here, if she thought her daughter belonged elsewhere, she could at least show her the way. The way back home. Was there a way back home? Was there even a _home_ to find a way back to?

There was nothing ahead of her, only regrets behind her. Was this the end Mom had meant for her? Here she was; spinning, falling, calling endlessly and receiving no response or even an indication she’d been _heard_. Stuck on an endless, infinite road that had once seemed so straight and clear but now was filled with twists and turns and bumps she’d never expected. So why bother even trying? She could feel this place, sucking the life out of her like a vampire did to his victims. There was no going back, no way back home, no home to even return to. All that was left, was the infinite void of oblivion. So what was the use of resisting, when it was so much easier to just… succumb.

“Lydia! Lydia!” Charles had been running, racing after the only light he’d had left in his broken world.

Evading the beings of the dead and damned, searching always searching for his one beacon of happiness. The one reason he had forced himself to keep going despite the jagged bleeding wound that had been his heart for months. How scared she must have been, how long until she lost her hope? Would he find her before it was too late? He could feel it, the eternal, infernal hunger of this place. Nothing but empty passages and rooms. The message to give up hope. Hope for the future, for tomorrow, hope for ever seeing the sun rise again. This was a world of infinite night. The shadows whispering that there was nothing to be found but despair, and eventually; nothing. This was what happened to the souls that left us behind. They succumbed to nothing, and became nothing. And soon, he would be joining them, if he wasn’t able to find Lydia and get the hell out of here.

“Lydia!” Charles called yet again, hoping against hope for an answer, some sign that she was all right… relatively speaking. But he found her. Lying there on the ground. For a moment, he felt his heart stop. Please if there was a god above let it not be true. Let her still be, “Lydia!”

She responded to her name. And a glance over her shoulder revealed a flush to her cheeks. A swiftly fading one, but the fact that it was still there meant they had a chance. Charles raced over to her and cradled her in his arms, “Lydia there you are,” he was ready to carry her out of here if he had to, “Come on, we need to get out of here. We’ll go back to the house and then-”

“Don’t you see it’s pointless Dad?” Lydia asked him, “I… I threw away everything to come here. To find her. And you gave up everything to chase after me. And now what? There’s nothing left for me, not here, not back there, not anywhere!” Lydia felt the tears roll hot and searing down her face, “I have _nothing_ anymore! I should have just killed myself a long time ago.”

“Lydia please don’t say that,” Charles begged her, “Look… I know things have been tough. And I admit that I haven’t helped with that but-”

“We’re moving forward, right?” Lydia looked at him and the pain she felt was reflected clearly in her eyes. So much pain, pain that he had tried to force her through. Maybe he should have gotten the therapist and damn the consequences. At least Lydia would have gotten the help she needed. _They_ would have gotten the help they needed. But Lydia wasn’t done with him yet, “is that the only answer you have Dad? Move forward? Feel nothing?” she began to laugh, a mirth of hysteria borne of soul shredding pain, “Well I guess you got what you wanted didn’t you? Because here we are, stuck in an infinite abyss of nothing!”

“Lydia you honestly think _this_ was what I wanted?” Charles asked her, just as volatilly emotional as her but trying to keep himself under control because this was _not_ the time to lose his head. Especially not when he faced the very real possibility of literally _losing_ it, “Any of this? I never said-”

“You never say _anything_!” Lydia struck at him, “And that’s the problem Dad! I’m, I’m hurting and you seem so determined to forget her. To act like she never existed when she was my everything!”

“I know that!” Charles yelled back at her, “She was my everything too. And that…” he paused for a moment, and took a deep breath for courage, “That’s why it was so hard to say-”

“Say what?” Lydia asked him, “Say that you missed her? That you loved her? That you were hurting just like me and maybe together we could have fixed whatever was broken? What could possibly have been so _hard_ to say?”

“Lydia your mother’s not dead!” it came out in a rush. A rush of emotions that had many and no names. They say that the truth will set you free. But all Charles saw was the reason he’d avoided it for so long in the first pace.

Lydia was still. Silent as the grave. Unmoving, unblinking. He would have sworn she would have been less hurt if he’d physically struck her instead. Breath escaped her in a broken, shuddering gasp. Replaced by shallow intakes, pitiful attempts to keep her heart going. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper when she asked him, _“What?”_

Charles could feel himself trembling. Knowing he had to hurt her a second time, had to relive the pain once again and this time spread it to his daughter when all he’d been trying to do was protect her smile. He wasn’t a perfect parent, he knew that, but he had been trying. His breathing began to mirror her own as he said it yet again, “Your mother… she’s still alive.”

“No,” Lydia shook her head. The grief she thought she’d been dealing with starting all over again, “No,” she repeated, “You’re lying,” she rushed forward and gripped at his jacket, “You’re lying! Please! Tell me you’re lying!”

And that was when his own tears were allowed to fall. Charles gave her a pained smile as he told her, “I wish I was. You have no idea how much I wish I was Lydia. But it’s the truth. Your mother isn’t dead. She wasn’t taken from us. She chose to leave, all on her own.”

“But- but-” Lydia was struggling to make sense of it all, “How? Why? She always seemed so _happy_ -”

“She wasn’t Lydia,” Charles sighed, “But she had us all fooled. For a long time. When I… when I first met your mother I thought she was the most unique, interesting woman I had ever seen. So many contradictions, but above it all, a kind and loving soul. I fell in love with her what felt like instantly. And for a while… I thought she felt the same. Maybe she did, maybe she was doing what she thought was expected of her. I don’t know, she never told me. But I noticed it, that faraway look she would get, as though there was this yearning for something else. Some place she felt she truly belonged. But when we had you, I thought things would get better. And it felt like they had. She was happy to have you, or so I thought. She always seemed happy around you. But…” and here Charles looked away, unable to face his daughter as he continued his story,

“She had threatened to leave, more than once. Though it was less of a threat and more of a warning. She insisted that one day, it would happen. That she would be gone without a trace, and that I would never be able to find her. But, she had a family, one she loved deeply, so I thought she’d never do it. And she proved me wrong. That night,” he took in a short breath, pained to remember it, relive it yet again but knowing he needed to, because Lydia deserved to know the truth, “I went to bed with her at my side, and woke up early that morning to the sound of a car pulling away. It didn’t have a license plate, or any identifiable features. On your mother’s dressing table she’d left her ring and a simple note; telling me that this day had been coming a long time, not to look for her because as far as I was concerned she was dead, and that she didn’t mind if I wanted to treat her as such.” Charles looked at his daughter and shrugged helplessly,

“And what could I do? I had her bank accounts frozen, credit cards, everything I thought of to track her down. Nothing. The unmarked car was a sign she’d been planning this for a long time, and you know how she was. Her plans never went awry. The chances of finding her when she didn’t want to be found? None, and believe me, I called in just about every favor I had saved up trying. So, I decided that it would be easier to follow her last suggestion. I told her family, hired some actors. Had the ceremony performed for an empty casket, though if she ever does die I told her parents she could be buried there. And then,” he shrugged again, “I tried to pick up the pieces she’d left behind.”

“Why Dad?” Lydia asked when his story was over, “Why couldn’t you just _tell_ me?”

“How _could_ I Lydia?” Charles asked in response, “Tell me, how do you look your child, the light of your life, the reason you work so hard for, in the eye and tell her that her mother -the woman she loved enough to jump into _Hell_ for- didn’t love her nearly as much? How do you tell her that the woman who gave birth to her, raised her, didn’t love her enough to fight for her, to take her with her or even… even say _goodbye_ ?” he sighed, “I thought I was protecting you, by not telling you. But it’s only now I realize that I was also trying to protect myself. Because it _hurt_ too much. And it still hurts. Because you and your mother, you and _Emily_ , you were my world. And that’s why I’ve been trying so hard to build a new one. I didn’t even realize, that there was no one in it. Lydia I know, that things have been tough. I know that I haven’t made it easy on either of us, trying to fix everything by pretending nothing was broken. And for that, for everything; I’m so sorry.”

It was humorlessly funny, but it all made sense now. The preoccupation with the story of the selkies. Of a woman finding what had been taken from her and fleeing with it, damning her husband and her old life and leaving it behind never to be seen again. The way she would look sometimes, there but not really present. And the suddenness of her alleged death. Heart attack, she'd been told. Died in her sleep. No way to prevent it when no one was awake. At least she hadn't suffered. Lydia had never felt so stupid. Everything. She’d gambled and lost everything. She’d spent the last six months of her life living in the shadow of a specter who’d never even existed. Chasing after it. Bridges burned, friends lost, family forsaken. And all for naught. She began to cry again, thinking of all that she’d done, all that she’d thrown away for nothing. It had all been pointless, because she’d been chasing after something that didn’t even exist. Her whole body trembled and she fell into her father’s arms. She hadn’t cried at the so-called funeral. She hadn’t cried in the sixth months since her mother had left a gaping hole in their lives and in their family. And the few tears of helplessness she’d let out earlier were now nothing compared to the tempest of hurt and anger and regret. Lydia now looked at her actions and recoiled in disgust at the way she had acted. Like her pain had been the only thing that had mattered. Like she’d had all the answers, knew everything she needed to know. How she’d selfishly decided that her death would solve all her problems, and would spurn her father, hurt him as badly as she’d been hurt, never understanding just how bad he had been hurting until now. And the others. Adam, Barbara, Delia, all of them in their own way only trying to help her even as she refused to be helped. And then of course there was Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice. He’d given her everything, and she’d treated him just as he’d said she had. Like a toy she could play with until she was bored or could no longer get what she wanted out of him. He may have been a monster, but even monsters had feelings. And she had hurt them, badly. The guilt was near suffocating as it enveloped her.

“Dad,” Lydia sniffled as she buried herself into his chest, “Dad I’m so sorry. For everything. I’ve done things… so many horrible things. I’m sorry I ruined your dinner, I’m sorry I got mad about your engagement to Delia, I’m sorry I forced you out of the house-”

“Well,” Charles let out a breath, “I was treating you like the child I thought you were, instead of the young lady I know you’re becoming,” he pulled from her and looked her in the eyes, “Lydia I promise that as soon as we get back I’m getting us both a therapist. Not a life coach, a therapist. And then… we can talk.”

“Talk?” Lydia asked him, unsure of if he was being serious or not. Her father didn’t _talk_ or do emotions at all really. And she vividly remembered him dismissing therapy as a bunch of new age nonsense. Ironic, considering his choice in partner. Lydia winced, she owed Delia a real apology for all of this.

“Talk,” Charles affirmed, “I know I’m not the best with… feelings. But, I think if we’re really going to move forward, we need to be able to talk about what happened in the past. Openly. At the very least,” he added, “Hopefully talking about things will keep something like… this,” he gestured around them, “From happening again.”

The attempt at levity was appreciated, but far too soon to really stir mirth within her. And she said as much, “Too soon Dad,” she told him, “Especially when we’re still here with a bunch of angry dead people and a demon lady after us.”

“Right, right,” Charles agreed, “Sorry. But, the therapy wasn’t a joke Lydia. We’re going to sit down and talk with someone, about… about everything.”

“Can we talk about her?” Lydia asked him, “I know it hurts, I’m still hurting and I’m sure you are too but-”

“We can talk about whatever you like,” Charles assured her, “And together, we’ll get through this. Just like we always have.”

Lydia buried herself once more into her father’s embrace, mumbling the words, “Dad, let’s go home.”

Charles had a realization, “If there’s even a home to go back to. You know that demon with the stupid hair will be waiting for us.”

Lydia, suddenly remembering the confession he had made to her father while “proposing” to her, blushed bright red, “Dad…” she began, “About what he said…”

“I am not going to bring it up,” Charles staunchly ignored, “One life altering revelation is enough for one day. I will say, however, that as soon as we get back you are getting tested and put on birth control.”

“You’re… acting way cooler about this than I thought would be,” Lydia remarked to him.

“Well, can’t undo what’s already been done,” Charles shrugged, “Much as I might wish to. So, we… well, you know. And we take proper precautions along the way, is that understood?”

“Yes Dad,” Lydia felt the beginnings of a smile tug on her lips. Even if he changed, he'd always be the same old Dad inside. It was comforting, to know you could change without changing who you were. Gave her hope for herself.

“What in god’s name possessed you to possibly think _that_ was a good idea?” Charles shook his head at her, “If I have only ever taught you one thing, wasn’t it never to mix business and pleasure?”

“Well… at the time?” Lydia ducked her head and looked away, “I was… it was complicated. I felt… free, liberated, and… I don’t know I was still a little mad at you so I was kind of in the mood for doing anything that might tick you off or give you an aneurysm. Sorry,”

“Well, regardless,” Charles sighed, “We’re going to need to find a way to get rid of him.”

“There isn’t,” Lydia shook her head. But then a thought occurred to her, "Except maybe one,”

“And that is?”

“Giving him exactly what he wants,” when her father looked ready to object Lydia held up a hand and silenced him, “Dad I made a deal with him, and…” she wanted to add that she’d really hurt him and if she was going to grow she needed to make amends with everyone she’d wronged, _everyone_. But, she knew her father wouldn’t go for that, as overprotective as he was, “And the only way to outcon a con is to give him exactly what he’s asking for.”

“Alright,” Charles sighed, “I meant what I said when I said that I would support your decision Lydia.”

“It’s gonna get a little weird, but it’ll work, I’m sure of it. Just draw the door and let’s get out of here,”

Charles patted himself down searching for it before remembering, “Okay… just let me go get the chalk. I hid it in case any of them found me. Especially one of those football players. They were so fast, and poised,”

“Oh, and see if you can find Miss Argentina. We’re gonna need some help, and a beauty queen might have just what I’m looking for!” Lydia called after him, making him pause. Charles looked back at her,

“I’ll see what I can do but… What’s is it you think we need and she’ll have?”

Lydia smiled, “Well, you can’t have a wedding without a wedding dress,”

Her father ran off to recover their ticket out of here. And hopefully they’d be able to scrounge up something suitable for a wedding. Maybe something in red. What was that old rhyme again? Married in red, better off dead. Well, with any luck, that was precisely what would be happening. Lydia smiled as she waited for her father to return. Sure, what she would be going back to would likely be dangerous. At the very least super daunting. But that was where the people who had cared about her had been. For the first time in forever, Lydia’s heart was calling out for someone other than her mom. It was calling out for that house on the hill, for the people inside it. Adam, Barbara, Delia, and Dad. Sure, it was gonna be complicated, messy, even. But they were all that she had. They had made the effort. They had stayed, coming back no matter how she’d tried to drive them away. Because they cared. And despite her fascination with the macabre, with horror and terror and fear; Lydia knew now what her course was. The road was finally clear, and it lead right back to that house she’d hated just three days earlier.

Death was not her answer. Not now. Her answer was making the most of the time she had, of being flesh and blood and life. The beating resounding in her chest no longer pounded like a death knell calling out for someone gone. Now it sounded like home. Home. Lydia Deetz was finally going home. At last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


	11. Married in Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My only excuse for this being out so quickly is that i was bribed with fanart. Hope you all enjoy the fruits of bribery.  
> Also, bonus points to the person who can spot the other musical reference I snuck in here.

It hadn't been easy to find Miss Argentina. It had been even more difficult to get her away from her superior, and a little woman in gray with a huge gash on her throat complaining about something. Judging by the papers she had in her hand likely something to do with that.

“Ay dios mio,” Tina hissed, “What are you two still doing here? Don't you know most of the bureaucracy of the dead is looking for you?”

“We'll be leaving soon,” Lydia promised, “But there's something even more dangerous waiting back home. So we need one more favor from you.”

Tina sighed, “I know I'm gonna regret asking this but, alright; what do you need?” 

“Got anything you could wear to a wedding?” Lydia asked, hopeful that the beauty queen might have something she could lend her. The ruse wouldn't work if Lydia wasn't dressed to impress.

Tina raised a brow at her, “Who’s wedding? Yours? Or someone else's?”

“Uh…” she hesitated for a moment, but realizing she wouldn’t get the dress if she didn’t spill she said, “Mine,” At Tina’s questioning look she sighed, “It’s complicated.”

Tina smiled wryly, “Things with Rayas typically are, but what on earth made you think marrying him would be a _good_ idea?”

“Wait,” Lydia paused, “You _know_ him?”

“Darling, let me tell you something about death. It operates on a sense of time that nobody understands. Take me, I died in 1945, but when I arrived here? Rayas was being bounced around because nobody knew what to do with him. Besides,” Tina added, “You've got his spectral energy all over you. It's why I thought you were dead at first. Why you think Miss ‘Ypatia was so suspicious of you ah?” She shook her head, amused by Lydia’s embarrassment, “But let me tell you one thing before I get you a dress and send you back chica. He’s not like anything else in this place, so I need to make sure you're certain you know what you're doing. Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Uh…”

Tina sighed, “Okay, we set the bar a little lower then. Do you at least have a plan?”

“I have a plan,” Lydia nodded. When Tina raised a brow Lydia sighed, “I have an idea that I hope will be a plan.”

“That's what I thought. What do you plan to accomplish by marrying him though?”

Lydia glanced back at her father a moment before turning to Miss Argentina and stumbling, “I um… I kind of owe him one.”

“So… because you’re indebted to him, he’s requesting marriage?” Tina still didn’t seem convinced about all this. But before Lydia could try and think up some way to summarize the past three days in a way that made any amount of sense Tina sighed, “Pobrecito, that poor boy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let me tell you a little something chiquita, mujere a mujere,” she walked Lydia a short distance away from his father, “If you’re gonna marry him out of obligation, or part of some convoluted plot to try and get rid of him, you jus’ gonna make it worse.”

“You think?”

“Do you?” Tina gave her a look, “Look, I know I said you were covered in his spectral signature but I was being polite to the overprotective father in the room. You’re _coated_ in it chiquita. It’s like you bathed in-” she didn’t bother to finish the sentence and instead cleared her throat, moving right along, “Well, I’m sure you know. And you can only get like that by doing one thing; so tell me, you let things go too far with him didn’t you?”

“Well…” Lydia flushed, wondering when she’d become so modest about her sexual escapades, “We might have… I mean…”

“Did you indulge in a little demonophilia o no?” Tina asked her bluntly.

“If you’re asking me if I had sex with him, yes, multiple times, and multiple ways,” Lydia sighed, “Look we were… I thought it was all part of the fun. But then… things got weird.”

“Define weird,”

“Well, my heart started racing and I’d get flustered when I looked at him and everything he did always made me smile or laugh and…” Lydia shrugged helplessly, “I hadn't been this happy since my mother was still a-” she paused, remembering the truth, “Around,” was her lame cover, “And sure, the sex was great but-”

“Not to interrupt, but between the fact that ‘is mark is rolling off you in waves, and the look on your face right now… something is telling me he was better than just ‘great’,” Tina interjected, “How long exactly did you two spend…”

“We were alone in the house for… three days. I mean well, not, _alone_ alone,” Lydia stumbled through her explanation, feeling her face grow redder and redder with every miscommunicated word that fell out of her mouth, “But for all intents and purposes alone. And we’d been… flirting a bit before that. I don’t know, he was so desperate to be seen, to be given attention, and I liked the power his desperation gave me. I liked how powerful he made me feel, and then,” she blushed, “how power _less_. I.. I was the one who said I wanted it. He, he never did anything to me that I didn’t. Not until,”

“Not until what?” Tina prodded, “There’s something bigger going on here, and I think you’re too afraid to face it yourself. You caught feelings, didn’t you?”

“What? No!” Lydia stubbornly denied it, “I mean, if I had spent too much time alone with him then maybe I might have but…” she paused. It was all too much to consider in conjunction with the new revelation about her mother, “but when I think of what he did to Barbara… he put her in danger and extorted me into marrying him. How could I possibly have feelings for someone who would hurt the people I care about like that? No, no,” Lydia shook her head, “It’s just lust, he really was a good lay,"

“Madre de dios!” Tina swore, “The two of you. I swear if I weren’t already dead you’d both be the death of me! Ay de mi,” she sighed, “Alright, fine,” with a snap of her fingers Lydia was dressed in a red gown with plenty of ruffles. It was cute, if not something she would have ever seen herself wearing. She really didn't think red was her color.

“There you go,” Tina said as she dusted off her hands, “Now please,” she added, “Get out of here. Miss ‘Ypatia may be the big boss, but heaven help you if _Juno_ finds you first!”

“Alright, alright” Lydia asked as she watched her father look down at his suit. Well, this marriage _was_ going to a be a business transaction, might as well have him in a business suit.

"We're all set," Charles said, looking at his daughter a moment as the door opened before he turned to Tina.

"Ah, no," Tina said, "The father of the bride is not going to a wedding looking like tha'."

With a snap of her fingers he was dressed to the nines, tails included. Charles regarded the wardrobe change with an impressed air at the cut and tailor. Very nice indeed.

"Thank you," he said as he looked both him and his daughter's outfits over, “But one more question before we go; why red?”

“Oh, j’you know what they say,” Tina shrugged as she waved them off with a knowing smile, “‘Married in red, better off dead’!”

BJ BJ BJ

Delia was not by any means a weak willed woman. Not anymore, and she had been broken down more times than anyone should have in order to become that way. She'd been through hell, trying to live up to the unrealistic expectations placed on her and when she inevitably collapsed under their weight, she got right back up and started again. It took a serious amount of strength to try and find positivity and meaning in all that. At least, she liked to think it did. But heaven help her if this hadn't been the most difficult moment she'd ever faced thus far. She'd run from the demon. Hidden away, with the ghostly couple trying to assure her it would be alright, that they’d try to protect her. And when they'd been found out the man, Adam, had boldly stood his ground, staring that he wasn't going to hurt anyone. It was an empty threat, proven when the demon flicked Adam to the side with barely a movement of a single finger. Whatever power he held, it was unmatched by anyone else in the house. Still, it had set Delia’s heart pounding to be protected like that. Further throbbing occurred when Barbara cuddled her close in the aftermath as Delia began to cry. It hadn’t lasted long, naturally, because Beetlejuice then stood them up at some podiums with their names emblazoned across the front and chained their hands to them so they couldn’t leave. At least the Maitlands had each other, Delia was all alone. Her fiance had -rightfully she would say but it didn’t make it hurt any less- run into the world of the dead chasing his daughter. Part of her wondered if Lydia seeking out her mother where there would be none to be found would be the impetus he’d need to finally tell Lydia the truth. Delia hoped so, before she was going to be sent to meet them in the world of the dead, she hoped Charles would finally be able to tell Lydia the truth, about everything. Her emotions were all over the place, but the Maitlands each reached a hand over to hers and grabbed a hold of them. It was reassuring, standing there feeling the comforting and non amorous touch of another as they waited while Beetlejuice hunted down Otho. Poor Otho, Delia hoped he’d make it out of all this alright. 

Beetlejuice wanted nothing more than vengeance. Blood, fresh and warm as it dripped down flesh, stained his fingertips so red it would never wash out, to hear the beautiful sounds of screams reverberate only to be cut short as life faded from a body and reformed into a spirit he could have plenty more fun with. Bodies reached a breaking point, but he knew enough black magic to make a ghost bleed, to make sure a spirit could feel every agonizing fracture of long gone bones and muscles. And he ached to really let loose on all these fuckers who’d helped steal his happily ever after away from him. So in order to do that, he was really gonna have some fun. With a snap of his fingers he was attired just like every other scumbag game show host who wanted nothing more than to humiliate the shit out of his contestants. Ah, but for a game show, he’d need an audience. Well, a couple of skeletons were never that difficult to come by. Adjusting the bow tie and juicing up a pencil mic he brought up the lights, it was showtime.

An overhead voice began, proclaiming the title of this little production, “ _Life or Death!_ ”

“That’s right!” Beetlejuice exclaimed, as he anxiously hopped around, “It’s time for America’s _favorite_ game show. Where the contestants _suck_! And the host is very angry, because his amazing plan to escape death just went _balls up_!” adding in a forced laugh he commanded silence, “Shut up! I’m ready for some people to die. So let’s…” he went over to a large covered object and pulled off the cloak, “spin, the wheel!”

There, strapped to a wheel where the only outcome was death, was Otho. A sort of special thank you since his need to be the center of attention had set this whole thing into motion. Additionally, because fucking up the exorcism so badly had caused Lydia to leave him. And oh boy did the little pissy prima donna look ready to piss himself now. He frantically struggled against his restraints, yelling out like an emotional animal,

“No, no! Please don’t spin the wheel! I don’t wanna die!”

Beetlejuice raised a brow. Big talk considering this was the same man who had wanted to suck off a ghost earlier. And even more recently when the man had offered to be his green card into the living world in exchange for his life. Yeah, not so spectrophillic now, was he? Besides, while it had almost been a tempting offer, Beetlejuice was familiar enough with psychological issues to spot a fellow clinger a mile away. There was no way in hell Otho would simply let it be a marriage and be done. Of course, that _did_ leave the redhead. But old Chuck had been using her, so… yeah, no thanks to that for right now. The biggest problem both of them had was that they weren’t Lydia. Oh well, they could pass on a message to her once he sent them all to the Netherworld. A big old empty house wasn’t great, but he supposed it would make for a nice consolation prize after all the hard work he’d put in.

“Don’t worry Otho!” Delia tried to reassure him, still clinging to the Maitlands’ hands, “We’ll put you in the soul box!”

“Delia!” oh man, here came a breaking point, that was exciting, “Don’t you get it? I’m a fraud! I’m no paranormal investigator, or even a certified life coach! My name isn’t even really Otho!”

“What?” Delia gasped, betrayed completely. Well, fuck if this woman wasn’t gullible. Beetlejuice could have told her the man was a shyster the moment he clapped eyes on him. The best cons weren’t too extravagant, and it was clear this one had gotten used to the luxury of his cons.

“It’s… Kevin,” he admitted, though the pain was evident in his voice and expression, “I’m from Nutley, New Jersey! I just wanted the chance to make something of myself!”

Delia paused a moment and then looked directly at Beetlejuice, “Spin the wheel!” she ordered.

Well, well, well, a vindictive side. How exploitable. He wondered if he could consider his plan not a failure, if he made some last minute adjustments. For now though, he was happy to oblige. With a quick jerk the wheel kept spinning, and its little stoppers kept hitting the man in the face. Funny, but not torturous enough for his liking.

“And as your Guru Otho always says,” Beetlejuice joked, “This, is taking too long so… buh-bye!” with a quick shove, the wheel was pushed out of the room. A snap of the fingers and the man was deposited back outside the house, with a forcible shove that sent him rolling down the rather long and steep hill. At the very least, there would be a nice couple of bruises to show for the experience.

He turned to the contestants, trying to decide if he wanted to pick his next victim, or offer the one living person a compromise. Hmm… come to life, or commit some cathartic murder? Decisions, decisions, decisions. Then again, why bother giving her a choice? That hadn’t exactly worked out so well the last time now had it?

“Alright audience, let’s decide which one of our… mediocre, contestants gets to win a _fabulous prize_! Vote now on your smell-phone.”

There was a brief pause and a sting of waiting music, followed by a ding as the rigged results were tallied and completed. Pulling an envelope out of nowhere he opened it to reveal the “surprise”, “Well, well, well, and it looks like the winner is… the one with the pulse! Congratulations!”

With just a bit of juice, Delia was unshackled and forcibly walked over where he stood waiting. Slinging an arm around her shoulders he yanked her in closer, “You win the ultimate prize, helping the host escape death and in exchange you get to keep your stupid little life a while longer, whaddya say?”

“Uhh… how about no?” Delia shot him a panicked smile, trying to be humorous as she fought to escape his grip. But he wasn’t having it. It was as they were fighting that there came the scratch of a door being formed in the wall.

A light and airy voice met his ears, almost sounding delirious, or high, “ _Hey_ BJ,”

That voice. He knew that voice. Eyes shot to reveal. Lydia. It was Lydia. Lydia was back.

“ _Lydia_!?” he sounded like he couldn’t believe it. Which was probably because he couldn’t. Lydia was _back_. But... what was she doing here?

BJ BJ BJ

Lydia had felt her heart begin to pound as they readied themselves for entry back into the land of the living. There was really no way to time this, since they had no idea what was going on on the other side, or even how much time had passed since they had left. Hopefully everyone was still okay. In one piece at the very least. Lydia brushed down the folds of her dress, feeling nervous. Almost like the blushing bride she was supposed to be playing as. Lydia took a deep breath as he began to draw on the wall, “Dad, how do I look?”

Charles paused a moment and looked at her, “You look beautiful, as always,” he told her, “But why the concern?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Lydia flustered, “I guess I’m just a little… nervous,” she laughed shakily, “Like it’s actually my wedding day. Crazy right?”

“Considering how the past week has been, no not really,” Charles answered, “Lydia as your father I’m always of the mind that there is never going to be anyone in this life or the next who deserves you. Least of all… him,” he sighed, “But, fake marriage or not, the word marriage is still in there. I suppose it only makes sense that you’d be a little nervous. I certainly was the day I-” he paused a moment, “The day I married your mother. I was a big ball of nerves,”

“Nice to know I get it from somewhere,” Lydia smiled wanly, “Alright, let’s do this. Ready or not, it’s showtime.”

Her father had finished opening the door and out it swung. It was now or never, Lydia picked up her skirts and marched on through. Placing what she imagined an enamored expression would look like on her face she went through and greeted her demonic fiance, “ _Hey_ BJ,”

Everything paused, and she heard his hopeful but disbelieving exclamation of, “ _Lydia_!?”

“What’s wrong-” she began to say only to really notice the situation she’d walked into. AKA, the situation that had Beetlejuice manhandling Delia who looked incredibly uncomfortable. Almost as if… he was trying to _marry_ her, “Sugarlumps,” she began, tone sweet but eyes murderous. Call her vain if you wanted to but was it not natural for her to experience a _little_ anger at how quickly he’d seemed to move on? And with _Delia_ of all people? Granted his options were limited but still. He was moving on to her supposed future step-mom? Hadn’t he wanted her desperately enough to have a hand in causing her to exorcise Barbara? Her eyes might have said murder but her smile said not at that exact moment, even though she was practically hissing through her teeth, “What’s going on here?”

“Oh um,” he had the good sense to actually look sheepish as he accidentally pushed Delia to the ground in his efforts to get her away from him, “See, it’s like this… Um… Well, you were gone and um-”

“Did you _seriously_ think I wasn’t comin’ back?” Lydia asked, striding closer to him and putting her hands on his chest as she acted deeply affronted and hurt, “How _could_ you?”

“Well… I mean, you literally jumped into Hell to get away from me,” he offered in response, “What was I supposed to do? Wait around for you to get back when you made it kinda clear you didn’t give two shits about me? Red meant just about as much, what was one pulse for another?”

“I can’t believe you!” it hadn’t been in the plan, but hopefully she could stir up enough desire by acting truly hurt, as though she’d wanted this, “I mean, I know I ran away but I had a change of heart! And here I come back to find you with some other woman!” she threw out a hand to Delia who was now being helped to her feet by Charles.

“Let me repeat; you. Jumped into _H_ _ell_. To get away from _me_ ,” Beetlejuice enunciated carefully, “What the fuck was I _supposed_ to think?”

Lydia made a show of sighing, “Well I guess it’s alright,” she told him, “I forgive you,”

“You- wait, you do?” He seemed confused, and rightly so. She was waffling back and forth between extremes here. But with any luck he’d chalk it up to human emotions and keep things moving.

“Of course,” Lydia pouted her lips and clasped her arms together, squeezing her chest in an enticing manner, “If you’ll forgive me for running away in the first place,”

But something about it seemed to set him off instead, “Alright,” he began, looking almost amused, “What’s the scam here?”

“Scam?” Lydia batted her eyes innocently, “What are you talking about darling?”

“Come on,” Beetlejuice folded his arms at her, “You really expect me to believe that after jumping into the land of the dead, you had a ‘change of heart’ and now wanna marry me? Come on, you gotta do better than that Babes,”

“How can I do better when I’m telling the truth?” Lydia asked him, taking her arm in her own and pressing it against her chest, “I meant what I said Beej, I had a change of heart in there. I saw all those lonely ghouls and I realized, I don’t wanna go through life alone,”

“And,” Charles interjected, “She wanted my blessing. And that does not come easy. Mister Juice, I respect your persistence, and your moxie, ” he strode over and put a hand on Beetlejuice’s shoulder, walking the demon away so Lydia could inform the others to play along, “Look at me!” Charles struggled to keep the demon’s attention as Lydia finished speaking, “I’m crying, because I’m so…” disgusted, horrified, possibly nauseous, “happy.” As Lydia returned to adoringly lay her head on one shoulder Charles clapped a hand on the other, “Welcome to the family, _son_.”

Beetlejuice paused a moment, the mic still in his hands. It was a cute trick, but one way too easy to see through, you couldn’t outcon a con. Admirable attempt, but, “Nope, not buying it, time to die,” and with a flip the mic was now a knife and he was about to send old Chuck back to the Netherworld when he heard a voice cry,

“Now wait just one damn minute!” Beetlejuice turned to see none other than Adam Maitland, mister beta-male pushover himself finally grow a pair. He’d grown a spine trying protect the other women in the first place. Admirable but ultimately ineffectual as he didn’t have enough spectral power to even _think_ about competing with a ghoul like him. This was amusing at best though. And sure enough, it didn’t last because immediately he turned sheepish at the slightest hint of murderous intent in Beetlejuice’s eyes,

"i have something to say. Ahem, Mister Beetlejuice, sir, aha,” he was fumbling over his words, which was pretty much natural considering he hadn’t had time to learn any script. He was flying in blind here, “Well… see, the thing is…”

“Spit it out or shut up Adam,” Beetlejuice was growing testy. The humorousness of the one moment of ballsiness the man had probably ever shown in this life or the next was a one trick pony and it was already done doing its trick.

“What I mean to say is that, since we have met; you have pinched me, groped my wife, harassed the both of us, and intimidated us with threats of bodily harm and i just want to tell you now in front of all these people that it… has worked,”

Pardon? Beetlejuice paused. Worked, what the fuck was this guy on?

“I… I want you Beetlejuice,” Adam declared, reaching over to the demon and yanking him into a kiss. Beetlejuice barely had a second to process what was going on before Barbara stormed over and ripped them apart with an incensed and offended gasp.

“How _dare_ you!” she turned to her husband and slapped him across the face, but when he reacted in pain she instantly melted, "Oh did I hit you too hard?"

"No, it's fine, you were angry?" Adam prompted. Yeah, alright. And he was supposed to believe acting as bad as _this_?

“I mean uh... I’m angry!” she paused for a second and then stepped closer to the demon, “Because I too am attracted to Mister Beetlejuice,” she caressed his face but couldn’t quite bring herself to commit to a kiss like her husband had. So instead she backed up and indicated everyone else join in with agreement,“We all are!”

“Wait, wait, wait, come on, come _on!_ ” Beetlejuice stopped them before this could get any more pathetic, “This is all very… believable,” said with the utmost sarcasm, “I’m a demon, and there’s nothing we love more than a good orgy. But, and I do say this with love, y’all don’t strike me as the orgying kind!” he paused a moment, remembering the red head, “Except her,” he pointed a finger in her direction, “She’s done some stuff, I can tell.'' Everyone looked at Delia and she demurred for a second before shrugging and nodding, “Yeah,” he chuckled.

Lydia rolled her eyes and walked back over to him. He was getting things seriously off track. “Beetlejuice, this isn't about that,”

“Yeah, I know it's not." Beetlejuice answered, "C'mon now Babes, what's the con here?”

“I told you there's no con!” Lydia snapped at him, "Why do you think everyone's out to get you? No one's out to get you."

“Right…” the demon drawled, “And I'm seriously supposed to believe mister stick up his ass and his alpha wife have been attracted to me this whole time? Why didn't they say something sooner then? I just find it kinda convenient we're having all these revelations the moment you come back ready to marry me after finding your precious mommy was _so_ important to you.”

“Well… you know how it is sometimes,” Lydia excused her behavior, waving it off instead of really explaining it, “Sometimes you're so blinded trying to get back something you lost, that you miss something just as wonderful because it's right in front of you,” she took his hands in her own and looked him in the eyes, “Beetlejuice, I meant what I said. I don't want to go through life alone, I want to have someone to share it with, I wanna share it with _you_ ,” she leaned in and whispered, “Besides, I… may still have that little problem from earlier you promised to take care of for me.”

“And you think I need a wedding for that?” he raised a brow at her, a filthy smirk curling the corner of his lips. Lydia couldn’t help the flush that raced to her cheeks and the resulting clench of muscles that was her response.

“No,” Lydia allowed, “But it's what you wanted. And it's about more than just that. This isn’t about sex, or revenge, or even just getting what you think you wanted. It’s about love, and life, and the people you choose to share it with. And coming back here, I realized that I wasn’t just trying to find my mom, I was running because I was scared,”

“Scared? You? Of what?” his brow was still raised, but now his skepticism was tinged with a sense of serious curiosity. Rightfully so, since he hadn’t been able to pull one over on her yet.

“Of what I was feeling,” she wasn't entirely sure where these words were coming from, only that it felt imperative she say them. Maybe she knew those were what would convince him, “I ran because of how everything made me so happy, just like when mom was around and… I was afraid of losing it all again. But when I went to the Netherworld I realized why that was. Beej I-” Lydia shrugged and shook her head helplessly, “I think I'm falling for you.”

There was a pause, a hush as her words were soaked in by the audience. It was the sort of confession that should have been made in private, between only the two of them. But they were on a time crunch, so they would have to work with what they had. Beetlejuice looked floored by her confession.

“You,” his voice came out hoarse, “You don't mean that.”

“I do,” Lydia replied, and that was when she realized; she did, “You know, it’s funny,” she continued as she looped an arm through his and began walking him back to the center of the room. Ruse or not she wasn’t gonna marry him while he was dressed in neon puke green, “When I was younger I used to get stared at a lot, and it always felt so gross and weird, but confusing at the same time. I got embarrassed, I couldn’t even look them in the eyes. But now that I have you,” she shrugged, “I guess I really love creepy old guys,”

“Wait, I’m a creepy old guy?”

“You’re _my_ creepy old guy,” Lydia corrected with a flirty smile and a wink, “Now, everyone!” she called to the others, “Fix his hair, get him prepared for Armageddon.”

“Of course Lydia,” they simpered, rushing about to change his clothes and smooth down his untamed mane so it looked slightly less like he’d crawled out of a tomb.

Meanwhile Lydia got to unleash her inner bridezilla, commanding people left and right with ease. And everyone did what she ordered, because it was her special day. And boy did the demon clean up nice… relatively speaking. There was nothing to be done about the undead complexion, at least not until the i do’s were traded, but they could smooth out the rougher edges for one night. And it seemed everyone’s involvement was the thing that finally cemented that this was real and this was happening for him. Beetlejuice even began to help, moving decor and grabbing the witnesses, even summoning the priest. Somewhere in the commotion, Lydia disappeared and the others did the same, changing out of their clothes into something more suitable for a ceremony. A wedding like this only happened once in a lifetime after all. But when the procession came through, and he finally laid eyes on his bride he was stunned. She was gorgeous, not that she wasn’t normally. But it was a certain kind of special to see someone you lusted over looking absolutely smitten in a cute little dress that made her look like a bloody (and he meant that literally) cupcake. More importantly, he was wondering what she might have put on to go _with_ the dress, which was sure to be a treat.

He may have been older, centuries older than his little bride to be, but he was in a way glad he’d waited. Waited for the right time, the right place, the right girl. And here he was, getting everything he’d ever wanted. All thanks to torture, extortion, and lies. Well, that was how the human world as he had always seen it had worked, so clearly this was the normal thing to do. At least, if you really wanted to get things done. And here she was, his brilliant, beautiful, blushing bride. About to make a breather out of him. And after that, he was really hoping to enjoy some of the conjugal perks of being alive. The reverend was standing at attention as Lydia came and clasped his hands, handing off her bouquet to Babs as she passed by. The women were crying, the men were holding their emotions in check. It was a beautiful thing, really. Lydia’s smile was infectious, and if he had a working heart he was sure it would be pounding. Lydia, his Lydia. For now and for always.

“Dearly beloved,” the reverend began, “We are gathered here today to join this ghoul and this young woman in unholy matrimony. Be there any here among you who thinks these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace,”

Charles cleared his throat and Beetlejuice had an itch in his trigger finger until the man actually spoke, “As her father, she has my permission and my blessing to marry this…” he paused for a second, “Thing. Please, continue.”

The reverend continued through the ceremony, even as Beetlejuice impatiently motioned for it to hurry up because he had a lot of livin’ to do. And eventually, it came to the penultimate part,

“Do you, Beetlejuice, take this young woman as your cursed bride?”

And here, he paused a moment, “Y’know rev, hold on a moment,” he let go of her hands and Lydia was surprised. Considering he’d nearly had Barbara killed to get to this point one would have thought he would have been a little more sure about doing this. Then again, Beetlejuice loved nothing more than his theatrics, so actually there was no telling if he was actually feeling nervous or not even as he paced and muttered, “Oh geez, I don’t know I mean it’s kind of a big decision isn’t it? I mean I always said if I ever did it I was gonna do it once and that was it… Well…” he scooted back over to Lydia and tightly grabbed her hands, “Yeah, I do.”

“And do you, Lydia, do you take this man to be your husband?”

“I…” she paused for a second, and now realized where he was coming from. It was one thing to say you were getting married, it was quite another to actually say, “I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me, the ring please,”

It took a moment or two of digging around in his pockets and pulling out mice, rats, snakes, and other vermin before he found it. A beautiful black metal band with an even prettier red stone set in it. And it was just her size too. As it slid onto her finger there was a sense of something clicking, like a key into a lock. And there a matching band appeared by magic on his own.

“I now pronounce you, man and wife. You may kiss the bride,”

It was a bit awkward, to do so with four sets of parental eyes trained on them as the parson disappeared. But, he hadn’t come alive yet, and the plan couldn’t go forward until he had so… Lydia tilted her chin up and closed her eyes, silently giving him permission they both knew he didn’t need to kiss her. A hand slid along the small of her back and tugged her closer, her own hands slid up over his shoulders. And though they’d done this previously, it felt like something new. Sweet, tender, all the things Beetlejuice wasn’t, and all the things that Lydia had thought had died in her. Somehow the most chaste kiss they’d ever given one another also felt like the most vulnerably intimate, even though their lips didn’t even part to allow the other in. Her lips buzzed and burned and she refused to draw the breath her body begged for because she also craved more from him. Lydia let herself fully surrender to the kiss because it also felt like goodbye. At least he’d have a good memory of her to go out on. 

When they separated, a clap of thunder rumbled the house. The lights flashed, and there was a sound of pain and shock that erupted from the former undead creature. When they could see again there was something different about him. He looked, flushed, and the dirt and decay on his body had also taken on new verdancy. Alright, an unexpected way of coming to life, but so long as he was alive…

Beetlejuice felt like he was seeing with new eyes, hearing with new ears. As he drew breath -breath!- into lungs that now needed it he tasted the air on his tongue. He smelled the scattered flower petals that littered the floor. He saw colors, vivid and bright and wonderful. And his human heart now throbbed. He’d watched people cycle through emotions for centuries and had thus learned how things felt, in a sense of the word. But never before had he experienced emotions like this. It was wonderful, it was glorious, it was everything he’d ever hoped for. He felt… he actually _felt_. Happiness. So much happiness. What an amazing feeling, especially since he’d never felt this way before in his entire afterlife. But then, the doubt crept in. What if this happiness was fleeting? What if it didn’t last? Worry and fear snuck in, captured happiness and held a knife to its throat. His emotions immediately took a nose dive. Happiness _was_ fleeting, because now it was gone. And what was left for him? Nothing but misery and despair and _sadness_. Joy and innocence were completely gone, and he wondered now if happiness would never come back. Sweet Satan below he’d wasted it. He would never be happy again, and it made him mad enough to set Hell aflame. Rage was very much like a fire, it burned hot and bright and uncontrollably if left unchecked. And since Beetlejuice had never experienced emotion on any visceral level he had no way to safely process his emotions (not unlike most breathing men) he had no outlet to expel the anger through. His hands began to shake as he clenched and unclenched them.

Meanwhile everyone else was watching the former undead entity go through some strange version of the seven stages of grief. Only problem was that it seemed the final step to this one was rage. Well, that or he was stuck in that if he really was going through grief. Hesitantly, Lydia stepped up to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “Beej?” she began cautiously, “You… feelin’ alright?”

Her touch in any romance story would have soothed him. His anger would have dissipated beneath her care and concern and he would have been able to temper the flames that surged through his blood. But this was no fairy tale and he was no beast cum handsome prince. He was a demon experiencing what it meant to be human for the first time, and it was all so new and overwhelming that he wanted just once scrap of familiarity and comfort, “No,” he growled low in his throat, lust mixing with the passion like pouring water on a grease fire. In other words, it only set him further aflame, “I’m angry, I’m never gonna be happy again and it makes me so angry. And I don’t know what to do with all this pent up aggression so maybe… maybe… I’ll just try _murder_!”

Lydia instantly backed away from him. He might be alive, but there was no telling if his supernatural powers had been suppressed in the transfer or not. He had lost whatever mind he’d had. Apparently, the only thing that could break a demon was being human. For some reason, he fixated on Delia as his first target. Charles immediately reached for a sculpture he’d let Delia bring in for the redecoration -supposedly one of her own design from her time in artistic occupational therapy- and pulled it out of its sheath. He tossed it to his daughter, more concerned that she defend herself than anything. Beetlejuice’s anger had given him a one track mind. He barely had time to look before Lydia whacked him over the head with the broad side of the sculpture. He collapsed to the ground in an unconscious heap.

His blushing bride panted hard. She’d just assaulted someone. Somehow, it never clicked she’d been basically doing the same thing while haunting the house with the man she’d just knocked out cold on the floor of her living room. Lydia stood there, panting, an iron grip on the pole of the sculpture. So close, she was so close to being free of him. All she had to do was plant her weapon, right through his back. And yet, her hands refused to move. In a fraction of a second a myriad of memories flashed through her mind’s eye and she trembled. She tried to force herself to move, knowing that was part of the plan, knowing it was what needed to be done. But she couldn’t bring herself to end someone’s life, not when she had finally realized just how precious her own _was_.

Everyone was looking at her. And while she’d whacked him pretty hard, they all knew they were on borrowed time. There was no telling how quickly Beetlejuice would wake up. Or, how angry he would be when he did. Lydia felt tears trail hot down her cheeks as she broke, “I can’t do it!”

“What? Why not?”

“I-” she swallowed through a glob of spit that threatened to choke her. The truth was something she barely understood, barely comprehended, so there was no way the others would, “I don’t know.” she lied, “I can’t, my arms won’t move!”

At least that part had been the truth. Her body was locked as she held the staff right above where her husband’s heart would be. But she couldn’t muster the drive. But if that hadn’t been bad enough, what came next was. Her arms began to move, but to her they felt numb. Like being tied to strings, Lydia was puppeted. With a sickening squish, the weapon found a home, causing Beetlejuice to wake with a groan of pain as she twisted the metaphorical knife deeper into his back. So this was what Adam had said when he claimed he felt violated. Lydia had acted against herself, and she wanted to vomit because of it. She wanted to let go as Beetlejuice slowly staggered to his feet, but her fingers were clenched. Even as she felt the foreign presence leave her, they would not uncurl.

“Ow, oww...oh, okay,” Beetlejuice panted. Fuck, this hurt like a bitch. And this was what some mortals felt through when they died? Shit. Even so, he had to give it to his wife, she got him, she got him good, “Okay, I see what you did there,” he glanced down and saw the blunt and bloodied of the pole he had shoved through his torso come out the other side of him, “That’s a-” he paused to try and catch his breath, “that’s a neat trick,”

“You stabbed him!” Delia exclaimed, looking more shocked than anyone. Then again, Charles likely hadn’t told her the whole scheme to keep her reactions genuine. Delia wasn’t the best at outright lying. Omission, she could do but they needed someone fully committed in order to make this work.

“With bad art,” Adam added, earning a slight offended, “Hey!” from the redhead.

“Ugh, shit,” Beetlejuice groaned again. This pain in his chest was… immense. And he could feel the life draining from him. Yet, he didn’t feel betrayed. He was actually kind of impressed. Lydia had really outdone herself with this little stunt. God, the team they could have made given just a little more time. Time, he was running out of time, “That… feels… meaningful,” he sighed as he gathered his remaining strength to push the end back out of him and fall back to the floor.

Everyone now gathered around the fresh body on the floor. But Delia remained confused,

“I don’t get it,” she shook her head helplessly, “You brought him to life just so you could kill him?”

“E-” Lydia had to clear her throat so she didn’t tip anyone else off, “Exactly.”

“But,” Delia protested, “Now he’ll be…”

They watched Beetlejuice rise again, complexion once again ashy and gray. The moss and growth now dry and brittle and dusty and grimy. He was back to normal, relatively speaking.

“That’s right,” Lydia tried to be enthusiastic about it, “Recently deceased. Adam,” she turned to the Maitlands, “We need a door, quick!” before she changed her mind, or she apologized to him. One or the other. Or both.

But the Maitlands were clearly ecstatic. Adam hurriedly ran and grabbed the chalk as Charles held it out to him. And paraphrased the the pages she’d shown him what felt like a lifetime ago as a door appeared on the wall, “Chapter One: ‘Proceed directly to the Netherworld’!”

The recently deceased… demon? Ghost? What precisely _was_ he now that he had died as a human? Lydia found herself fiddling with her wedding ring before she even realized she was doing it. Crap, was there any possible way she might be able to keep this on without getting concerned looks from everyone? Probably not. Anyways, Beetlejuice was looking around as though still trying to process his own death when the Maitlands called out to him, holding on to furniture as they got as close to the portal as they dared,

“Hey Beetlejuice! LEAVE! THIS! HOUSE!” as he turned around to focus on the source of the noises he heard the portal’s green flashed, and she saw the awareness fade from his eyes.

“Netherworld,” he slurred, like he was drowsy or drunk or some combination, “Netherworld!” the zombification effect was nigh instantaneous as he reached out his arms and slowly lumbered to the portal, “Netherworld!”

Lydia felt a tremendous amount of simultaneous guilt and relief. Guilt that she’d had to do this to him, but relief that he was gone so she could try and sort through all that she’d learned. And how she felt about it all. Hopefully being dead again meant that if she truly wanted to see him, she could just call. But until she did, she was… should she dare to hope it? She was free.

But of course, such hopes were always crushed. But this was not a hope crushed by folly or fault of anyone here. As Beetlejuice was nearly in the portal’s aimless grip, something caused him to stop. A cold, cruel, and downright sinister sounding voice. The worst part being that it sounded familiar. 

“Beetlejuice!” it snapped.

And apparently Lydia and Charles weren’t the only one who recognized it. Beetlejuice immediately snapped out of his stupor, and for the first time since Lydia had met him, he actually looked afraid.

“Oh crap,” he swore as he slowly backed away.

“I should’ve known _you’d_ be mixed up in all this,” the voice seethed, standing so their silhouette obscured the light of the Netherworld but their profile remained shadowed, “God you’re such a screw up! A pathetic excuse for a demon! You're not even capable enough to be _called_ a demon!”

“I-I don't believe this,” he appeared to be shocked, as if he’d seen a ghost, and yes the irony of that statement didn’t escape Lydia even as she thought it, “No,” he shook his head slightly starting to back away, “No, you’re supposed to be dead! You’re supposed to be _double dead_!”

“And yet,” the voice clucked as she walked through the door. The she in question being none other than Hypatia Draconius, head of the bureau of New Arrivals, “Here I am. Now tell me something Beetlejuice, did you miss me?”

No one made a sound. And the entire room froze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you all so much for reading, and until next time; stay spooky Netherlings!


	12. Jump in the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we are in the home stretch my Netherlings. Hope you enjoy it!

Hypatia Draconius had never in her entire after existence dealt with the situation she’d had to deal with today. Not only had someone snitched that she wasn’t properly overseeing the new arrivals and leaving their orientation to some of her underlings, who apparently had actual work to do instead of just waiting out eternity like she had. And then she found what at first looked to be a dead girl walking, another run of the mill breather turned ghost. But the closer she got, the more something about her seemed off. The spectral energy a ghost gave off was unique, unmistakable. But what she had found the girl practically reeked of was a dead man she knew all too well. And her suspicions had only been further proven when the pulse-o-meter started flashing angrily at her entrance. A breather, in the land of the dead. Of course, of _course_. And the fact that the girl immediately ran further and further in as though the devil himself were chasing after her was a very good indication she didn’t want to face whatever was waiting her back home. Of course, her option was die and stay here, or try and make it back home and face whatever was there. But, since no one who came to the Netherworld was allowed to leave -barring special access leave for people whose families celebrated Dia de los Muertos naturally- there really wasn’t much of a choice at all here now was there?

But, unfortunately for her, the girl had made the second choice a viable one. Someone had helped her and her breather father escape. Someone had allowed contraband portal creation substances into the Netherworld, where the breathers had gotten ahold of them, and now they’d used it to escape. Thankfully, unauthorized portals were easy to detect, it was just a matter of getting to them. And wouldn’t you know it, the portal was reopening as she was passing through to the other side. As it opened she heard a voice, entranced, clamor for the Netherworld. A voice that, like the spectral signature on the girl, was all too familiar to her.

“Beetlejuice!” she snarled as she barred his entrance back into the land of the dead from which he had been banished. The demonic disappointment snapped out of his trance, and looked surprised. She wasn’t surprised that he was, it had been quite a few millennia since they’d last seen one another.

“Oh crap,” he slowly backed up as she glared at him. And here he was, dressed for a wedding, with the smell of new death lingering all over him. Which, to be fair, was a step up from how he _normally_ smelled, but still. He’d really made a fine mess of things here now hadn’t he? While she hadn’t _seen_ him in several millennia, that didn’t mean she hadn’t heard through the grapevine what he’d been getting up to. The usual antics which were nothing special, a few cases of relatively good behavior in which he guided souls to the Netherworld. But otherwise, a whole lot of nothing she cared about which suited her just fine.

But this? Marrying a human, a _breather_ , to try and escape death? And he hadn’t even gotten her soul in the process. All he’d gotten was his ass handed to him and what looked like a stake to the heart, assuming he should be so lucky as to have something sharp pierce tender human flesh. Hypatia hoped he hadn’t. Good god he was an insult, to the bad name of demons everywhere, let alone the dead. And she made sure to let him know her feelings on the subject. But he still seemed stuck on the fact that they were meeting yet again.

“I-I don’t believe this,” Beetlejuice breathed, looking at her like she was some sort of mirage, “No,” he shook his head slightly at her, “No, you’re supposed to be dead! You’re supposed to be _double dead_!”

“And yet,” Hypatia drawled, forcing him further into the room as she entered the world and making sure to seal the portal behind her so no one except her could get back in, “Here I am. Now tell me something Lawrence _darling_ ; did you miss me?”

Beetlejuice felt like he’d been hit with a brick wall. This wasn’t, she couldn’t be… he remembered watching her be ripped apart that long ago night. The night he’d been placed with… with… his mother, no, Juno. Wait, no, Juno _was_ his mother, wasn’t she? Memories, painful and repressed and not altogether accurate flooded through his head. Two women devolving from one. Or had it been he’d merged the two in his mind after so long being banished to the living world without being able to join it? Had his psyche combined the figures to keep him from going insane? Well, more so than he already was at any rate. It was looking more and more likely. Because he remembered Juno. Juno never changed. She was perpetually a crotchety older looking woman, always with a cigarette in hand and a gash deep across her throat. Hypatia, by comparison, was the epitome of a put together business woman, and that was _not_ how he remembered her. He remembered a tangled mass of hair, the stench of booze emanating from her, the harsh grating sounds of shrill disappointment. Which, considering how she’d greeted him, meant something never changed.

But as for her question, “Sure,” he told her, “About as much as I’ve missed taking a bath. Otherwise, not s'much,”

“The feeling is mutual,” Hypatia drawled as she took a drag from a cigarette, “I mean, just look at you! Crushed velvet? You’re supposed to be a demon, not a damn hotel worker! And what’s with your hair? You could light it on fire and it’d look better! Not to mention this whole damn mess. Here you are, recently deceased, and you don’t even have a damn mortal soul to show for whatever it is you did here. Which, knowing you, probably wasn’t much anyways,”

Beetlejuice pouted, feeling himself shrink back to the time he’d been under her care, under her supervision rather. And yet, that innate need for approval, for acceptance kept him always asking, “Why you gotta be so hard on me,” and then, a reminder of who she was, of what she was supposed to be to him, “Mom?”

“Wait, _what_?” was the collective chorus of everyone around him. And fuck, he wanted to toss her on her ass and tear her to shreds like he apparently had failed to do oh so long ago. The problem was, being around this bitch made him feel like he didn’t have those powers again. That he was exactly what she said he was, which was nothing. But his anger lingered, and all he could say was,

“This is so embarrassing,” and it was. For more reasons than one. The least of which being that his mother was here belittling him and he couldn’t act on every murderous fantasy now coursing through his mind because for some fucking reason his power just _wouldn’t work_.

Hypatia, however, simply scoffed, “ _You’re_ the embarrassment,” she chided, “To the dead! So desperate for somebody to love you that you go and act like a damn fool!” dropping the mocking tone she sighed, “No, the only fool here is me, for believing that damn monster when he propositioned me that night,” here she took on the sarcastic tone again, “‘Have my child,’ he said, ‘He’ll be more powerful than any creature in Hell’ he said, ‘You’ll be worshipped as a goddess once he fulfills his destiny,’ _HE FUCKING SAID_!” the lit cigarette was crushed in her hand as she seethed, “And what did I get instead? Only the biggest disappointment since the damn _crucifixion_!”

Beetlejuice felt his own fists clench. The juice had seemed to finally get past whatever had blocked it, as pure catharsis desiring rage began to flow through him. And that was when Hypatia added,

“Fortunately for me, I'm not here to deal with _you_ ,” and with a wave of her hand she sent him back against the staircase. Then she focused her sights on Lydia, “You,” she snarled, “You go to the Netherworld, you _don’t_ come back. That’s the rule, and if you’re still kicking when you make it there, we take care of that too.”

The threat was unstated, but the implication was clear. She planned to kill Lydia and take her soul back to the Netherworld. And hell if anyone else in the room was having that. So, despite their inferior strength in comparison, they began rushing at the woman who knocked them all away with nothing more than a wave of her hand. And in the process, she knocked Barbara clean out the front door.

“Barbara!” Adam wailed, though he clung to the handle to prevent himself from being sucked into the vortex that awaited him beyond.

“Barbara,” Lydia frantically looked to the open door, “No! Not again!” after all she had done to save the woman, it just didn’t seem right that she would be the one to die again because of it.

Beetlejuice then stepped in front of Lydia, clearly shielding her from the demon's grasp, “Knock it off ma!”

Hypatia paused a moment, turning her glare on her progeny, “What did you just say to me?”

It was phrased like a question. But her tone clearly indicated that she was daring him to say it again. Beetlejuice took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly. When he opened his eyes, they were practically glowing,

“I said; leave her the _fuck_ alone.”

But Hypatia only chuckled, like she found this little stunt amusing, “And why,” she asked him, “Would I do that? Since it seems I always have to clean up your messes, I might as well claim the soul _you_ couldn’t,” she leered at Lydia, “I’m sure the bossman could find a use or two for her, though, she would have fetched me a higher price if you hadn’t _tainted_ her already.” She clucked her tongue disdainfully, "Typical child, can't keep your hands off the things that _don't_ belong to you."

“You fucking bitch,” Beetlejuice swore, “Because of her, I got to live,” he looked at her over his shoulder. Lydia was simply watching with wide eyes and a slightly dropped open mouth, “Well, briefly anyways, very briefly,”

And despite herself, despite the very real danger she knew herself to be in, Lydia couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth as she shrugged back at him. He really could make her smile in any situation couldn’t he?

“But despite how brief it was, I see now why the dead long for it once it's over. Because everything they go through, every good time and bad, it’s worth it. Every single bit of it. And I’m not gonna let you take _any_ of it away from her.”

And this time, Hypatia did laugh, chucking mirthlessly as she tilted her head down for just a moment, “How cute,” she snarled, “You really think you can protect someone? You think she’d ever give a damn about you if you did? Cut the crap Beetlejuice. You and I _both_ know what you are. You aren’t some kind and merciful soul who does things for the benefit of others. You only do things when you stand to benefit. So tell me,” she sneered, “What does this get you?”

“You’re right,” Beetlejuice admitted without any pretense, “I only do things for me. I do them because I want something. But see, I _want_ Lydia to keep her life. And beating the shit out of you? That’s just gonna be a little incentive to make sure I get the job done.”

“You dare challenge _me_?” Hypatia’s voice took on a demonic duality, “I _created_ you! Gave you existence and you would attempt to take _me_ on? You wretched, ungrateful little _worm_!”

“A worm, huh?” Beetlejuice smirked, “If my dad delivered on anything he promised you, it’s that there ain’t nothin’ and no one like me. Let me tell ya somthin’; I’ve been stuck in enough shitholes long enough to read that damn handbook you losers tout cover to fuckin’ cover and I know all the ins and outs that go along with it. Doesn’t matter that I’m recently deceased, my vows with Lydia still stand. Know what that means ma? Means she’s my fuckin’ _wife_. _My_. _Wife_. And ain’t no one gonna lay a hand on her ‘less _I_ say so.”

And with that, Hypatia was unable to move. Every movement of her body was controlled by him, and he made it sting. Bone snapping, flesh and ligaments tearing. This wasn’t so much a fight as it was a viscous slaughter by someone who knew they could win with easy but didn’t bother holding back. And Lydia watched the carnage wondering if it spoke to some deep depravity within her that she was both repulsed at what he was doing and incredibly attracted by the lengths he would go to protect her. The whole implication of her being his property was a conversation that could wait for later, right?

But with every crunch, every snap, every sound of wet flesh being stripped from its bones, a sadistic, insane laugh accompanied it. String her up, cut her down, Hypatia laughed through it all as if there was nothing she had to lose. As if this was nothing more than some pathetically amusing joke. And that was when Beetlejuice really started to lose it.

“Shut up,” he growled, breaking more bones, causing more pain, anything to get that hideous, hideous noise to _stop_ , “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut _up_!”

There were pieces of the demon woman strewn about the house. And that was he ceased, panting hard, like the mere action of using magic had tired him out. At least Hypatia was dealt with though. But with a mind of their own the chunks knit themselves back together, reforming her as if she hadn't quite literally just been torn limb from limb.

“You continue to hold back,” Hypatia clucked her tongue in disappointment, “All these years with the breathers didn't punish you it seems. It just made you soft; _weak_ ; a _disgrace_!” she hissed, drawing at her son with nothing more than an outstretched hand and manifestation of her powers. Beetlejuice felt his body lock up and move against his own will. When he saw the doors open he knew his mother intended to send him out for Sandworm chow.

Fuck no. She was right. He’d been holding back, but only out of some small scrap of misguided idiocy that had always managed to convince him that his mother may have hurt him but she would never try to destroy him. Until that night he’d really let loose. The night he thought he’d destroyed her first. He'd blocked much of the details of that memory out, but the glint in her eye brought them all back. He'd been unable to move, much like he was now, and afraid. His powers had not thought about strength or consequences, they'd only thought of their host's survival. And in the process he'd accidentally destroyed his progenitor. But this time wasn’t going to be an accident, he was very much determined to do it on purpose. Beetlejuice was not that cowering little imp who didn't know his own strength. He was a monster who reveled in the clutch of the shadows and the screams of pain and fear he elicited. And he felt it was his duty as a showman to put on the ultimate performance here. The greatest disappearing act of all time. Gathering all his demonic and otherworldly strength he broke free. Unfortunately, he hadn’t expected how much it would cost him. Beetlejuice fell to his knees, panting again. Why was he panting? Oh right, he was technically, recently deceased. He'd felt tired just ripping her to shreds the first time. Using all of his powers like this would overtax his new spectral form. What the fuck _was_ he anymore? A demon? A ghost? An unholy abomination of the two? Didn’t matter, he was dead, and he was weakened because of it.

“Beetlejuice!” Lydia shouted, rushing over to him and kneeling down. She wasn’t sure what would help here, he was already dead so checking for a pulse was pointless. And he was barely responsive when she petted at his head. He had been trying to protect her, what the hell had happened to him?

“Tch,” Hypatia scoffed folding her arms and sneering disdainfully at the sight, “What a wimp, this is what I get for trusting asshole Lovecraftian abominations,” she shook her head and sighed, “Now, where were we? Oh right,” she turned and pointed at Lydia, “ _You_! You’re coming with me,”

Lydia looked up at the woman for a moment, and then squared her jaw. She picked up her skirts and then gingerly stepped over Beetlejuice, shielding him as he’d shielded her.

“You know what?” Lydia began as she glared at the woman who was most of the cause for her monster’s issues, “I’ve already been to Hell, and back. And I learned a lot along the way. And you know, I think... I’ll take a chance on _life_ , _people_ ,” and deciding to claim them as her own she added, “Like these weirdos here,”

“That’s right!” Charles said, striding over and placing a hand on Lydia’s shoulders, “She’s not going anywhere. So back off,”

“No way,” Adam agreed, leaping over and flanking Lydia’s other side, “Over our dead bodies!”

“Yeah I’m a part of this too!” Delia exclaimed, kneeling in front of Lydia even as she added, “I don’t get it but I’m a part of it!”

But Hypatia only laughed, “Well, well, well, look at you.” she jeered, “All ganging up against the mean lady from Hell!” she scoffed, “A _dora_ ble! Okay, you wanna be together?” and yet again she took on that demonic dual tone in her voice, “ _Then you can_ **_die_ ** _together!_ ”

At that proclamation Beetlejuice had only just barely regained enough strength to struggle to his feet, a raspy, “No!” barely heard over the din as he raced to try and protect Lydia. He only just broke through the crowd in time to see a sandworm busting its way through the side of the house and who should be riding astride it but Barbara Maitland herself. Wow, now that was kind of impressive. Beetlejuice backed up, still keeping an arm in front of Lydia as the rest of them scattered. The creature reared and wiggled as Hypatia wrestled with its second jaw, the one that did the eating. But not even a demon lady was a match for a voracious beast like that. It crashed into Hypatia and then dove into the floor, Barbara hopping off at the last minute to safety as it disappeared back into the abyss. Beetlejuice went and inspected the hole and then, trying for levity, he looked to Lydia and said,

“Hey check it out Lydia! Now we both got dead moms!”

Lydia cocked her head to the side, raising an unimpressed brow at him and lightly lifting her hands in a gesture that said, “Really?” without actually saying it. It didn’t matter that her mother wasn’t actually dead, it was still a joke made in poor taste.

He shrugged, leaning back like he knew he had crossed a line and was over exaggeratedly apologizing for it. Then he took in the looks of everyone else around him and decided, “Welp... I should probably go,” With a snap of his fingers the hole in the floor was repaired as if it had never been damaged in the first place, “Think I’ll go on a little vision quest, maybe find my dad. Epilogues am I right?”

Then, turning to the onlookers he strode over to Adam, “Adam,” he began, clapping him on the back, “You’re boring, but you’ve got a boss bitch that owns you, don’t be ashamed of that,”

Adam made a choked sound in response, like he was embarrassed and angry but too polite to say anything about it. Beetlejuice moved on to Mrs. Maitland.

“Barbara,” he nodded, “Gotta say, nice work with the sandworm there, really came in clutch didnt’cha?”

Barbara gave him a sweet smile as she said, “Thanks, I was aiming for you.”

There was a moment of pause before Beetlejuice said, “Fair enough,” and extended a hand to her, “Put’er there,” and when she took it he tried to crash her into his hips, adding, “Now put her here,” but the woman was too quick for him and quickly twisted the arm around his back, “Okay, alright jeez! It was worth a shot,” she let him go and he backed off, and he nodded at her again, “Boss ass bitch, respect,”

And Barbara couldn’t help but preen under the praise. Coming from him, and the fact that he’d said she’d never be threatening, it meant a lot more than it probably should have to be honest. Beetlejuice crossed the room, to where Delia nervously stood trying to avoid eye contact with the demon.

“Deidre,” he began, only for the redhead to correct him,

“Delia,” she said meekly.

“Yeah well we never had much time onstage together. Charles!” he immediately turned to the Deetz patriarch and clapped him on the back too, “You ripe old bastard! Never change!”

Charles gave a wistful smile, “But I already have changed,” he admitted, sending a loving look to his daughter, “I changed quite a lot,”

“Well then,” Beetlejuice dusted off his waistcoat and cleared his throat, “Go fuck yourself,” and holding up a hand, he forced the man back as he returned to the cause of all this trouble. Lydia. His Lydia, he put a hand over where his heart had beat for a brief moment. “And Lydia,” he said, stopping in the middle of the room, watching as she made her way back over to him. There was a draw between them he’d never been able to quite explain, but he knew for now he would have to say goodbye. Beetlejuice put his hands lightly on her upper arms, rubbing them a little, “Y’know, I think I’ll miss you most of all, scarecrow,”

Lydia let out a little chuckle, “Yeah, I think we both know what you’re gonna miss, and I doubt I have very much to do with it,” she shot back, though her tone lacked any and all malice.

“Well naturally,” he admitted without shame, “But in all seriousness, I _am_ gonna miss you.”

And Lydia felt touched, touched enough to hug him, which he seemed shocked at. And Lydia felt like she should say something. Something more, not let him go like this.

 _“You don’t have to go,”_ was what rested on the tip of her tongue. But what she said as she pulled apart and rested a hand on his shoulder was, “You… you smell terrible,”

He put a hand over hers and looked her in the eyes, “And I know that now,” he said with a wink and a nod. Lydia couldn’t help the small breath of laughter that escaped her at that. Beetlejuice let her go, took one last look around, and sighed, “Welp, alright then. Later!”

With a snap of fingers and a crack of thunder he was ready to leave. Except, for one tiny imposition standing in the doorway.

“Beetlejuice!” she snapped, “I might have known you were responsible for all of this,” she sighed and took a drag of the cigarette in her hand, letting the smoke out through the gash in her throat, “Do you have any idea how much _paperwork_ I have to deal with now?”

“Hey! Junebug!” he greeted, “I was just on my way out as a matter of fact-”

“You fed one of the Bureau’s higher ups to a _Sandworm_!” Junebug, whatever her real name was, snapped back at him, “Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” he sighed. Looking around he said, “Oh right, ‘spose introductions are in order since she’s here ‘n all. Ahem, this is Juno, my other mother.”

“Please,” Juno scoffed, “I was your caseworker, still am as a matter of fact. Good god you’re gonna need some intercession for this!”

“Hey, technically _I_ wasn’t the one who fed my mother to a Sandworm,” Beetlejuice informed her, “But ah, I’ve worn out my welcome here, so how’s about we talk all this over over a nice cuppa joe?” he slung an arm around the other woman’s shoulder and quickly guided her back through the door, prattling on about everything and nothing so he could distract her from asking too many questions in front of the wrong crowd. The door shut with an air of finality behind them, melting back into the wall seamlessly, like there’d never been anything there at all.

Everyone looked at where the pair had been and then Charles turned around and said, “This has been a strange day,”

Lydia let out another little breath of laughter as she offered up, “Strange and unusual, right?”

Charles chuckled in response, “Yes, yes I… suppose so,” then he sobered, “Lydia I think we have a lot to talk about, but first,” he strode over to the Maitlands, “I want to apologize to you, both of you. We never would have imagined the house we bought would be haunted. Now, I’m willing to admit when I’ve done wrong, and take the steps to correct it. On paper, I still own the house, and I will continue to do so. But, I would like to offer the house itself back to you. We'll move out as soon as we find another place, maybe head back to that house in New York,”

Lydia couldn't believe it. Especially not knowing what she now knew about her mother. But he remembered she'd wanted to return, and was, not in so many words, offering that back to her. But the question was, did she want it?

Meanwhile Adam and Barbara looked at each other, seeming to communicate without words. And then Barbara turned back to Charles, “You know,” she began, “It’s actually… nice, to see this old house so filled with life. And we were planning on bringing in some new people to live with us before we died anyways so… We’d, we’d love it if you and Lydia stayed.”

“Really?” Charles asked, rather shocked at the prospect he was being offered. Living in a house with a beautiful specter might prove a little difficult, but when Lydia echoed his question with an excited version of her own, how could he deny his daughter happiness? She’d found a family, and he wanted to make sure she had some place she felt she belonged,

“Of course!” Adam exclaimed excitedly, “We’d love it! I mean, I’m sorry it’s kind of a mess right now but-”

“It’s nothing we can’t fix,” Barbara chimed in, placing a kiss on her husband’s cheek and reaching out a hand to Charles and Lydia.

“I…” Charles didn’t know what to do with himself, “Thank you, for sharing your home with us.”

“Well,” Delia broke in, “I’m so happy for all of you,” offering a small wave as she began to pick up her skirts and walk away, “And, Lydia, I’m seriously very proud of you. You,” Delia shrugged, “You don’t need me anymore,” she let out a mirthless laugh, “I don’t think you ever did, really. So,” she took the ring off her finger and placed it in Charles’ hand, “I guess I’ll just go then…”

“Delia,” Lydia called before she could help herself, “Wait.”

It wasn’t fair that the woman who had helped her father when he’d needed someone, and Lydia had been too hurt to be able to fill that role, should leave. Yes, it would be weird. It would be strange, and unusual. But hey, so was living in a haunted house. Apparently strange and unusual was looking to be Lydia’s new normal so… in for a penny, in for a pound she guessed.

“Yes?” Delia turned around far too quickly, and her yes was much too hopeful, as though she’d been waiting for Lydia to stop her, “Did you say something?”

“I…” Lydia looked back to her father, and the Maitlands, “We want you to stay.”

“What?” Delia’s reply was soft, as though despite being hopeful that she’d be stopped, she hadn’t expected Lydia to vocalize wanting her to stay.

“I mean, it’s just like you said,” Lydia shrugged, “You may not always get it, but you’re a _part_ of it.”

“She’s right,” Adam came over and put a hand on the redhead’s shoulders, “You’re a part of it Delia, and Barbara and I… we would never want anyone to be left out.”

Delia felt a flush rise in her cheeks. The ghostly man’s touch was cold, but his words warmed her greatly. Her eyes darted between her maybe fiance and the spectral woman who’d come to stand beside him. And then at Lydia, who looked hopeful as she outstretched a hand,

“So whaddya say Delia?” she asked, “Will you stay with us?”

Delia felt tears well in her eyes. She grabbed Lydia’s hand and pulled the younger woman into a hug, exclaiming, “Sucks- _yes_!” as her answer, adding, "I promise I will never say that again," as Lydia laughed. Delia then let her future step-daughter go and returned to Charles as he slid the ring back on her finger, “I’m just gonna come out and say it, this is the best day of my entire life!”

“So,” Lydia caught their attention from the dining room table, a feather duster and a broom in her hands, and her camera resting around her neck, “How’s about we get this place cleaned up?”

“Oh wait!” Adam ducked into the other room for a minute. He came back just as the strains of calypso music began to fill the air, “Nothing like a song to help the work along, right?”

“Right!” Barbara laughed as she took one of the tools and started cleaning to the tempo, Adam guiding Delia to where the rest of the supplies waited for their use.

But Charles and Lydia stood off to the side, remembering, as the voice of Harry Belafonte filled the air, “Your mother loved this song,” he quietly remarked to Lydia as the others ran off for more cleaning supplies.

“Might be nice to have some new memories associated with it then, right?” Lydia asked in reply, handing him a broom.

“Right,” Charles smiled at her, going to join the others.

They laughed and sang and did more dancing than cleaning to be quite honest. And Lydia’s camera captured the happy moments forever on film. Adam and Barbara even caused her to levitate just for the fun of it. Lydia watched the way her father and Barbara interacted, and the lingering touches between Adam and Delia. Strange and unusual was apparently about to get a whole lot stranger. Welp, Lydia shrugged, everything else had already happened, might as well let this. As she watched and shot photos she thought back to her mother, and all the time she’d spent chasing after her. Yes, hearing the song, seeing the happiness, it was all very bittersweet in a way. But Emily had made her choice, and Lydia had now made hers. Even so, she sent out a silent prayer that whatever it was Emily had left to go looking for, she had found. Lydia had found what she’d been searching for and now; she was finally home.

BJ BJ BJ

While things were far from the average person’s definition of normal, they found a routine that suited them quite nicely. Lydia enrolled in Miss Shannon’s school for girls -subtle dad, subtle- and did the whole school thing. Get up, uniform, breakfast, go to class, come home. Of course, she did get in trouble with some of the teachers for being very obviously not normal and refusing to compromise that aspect about herself. She had acquaintances, but not really anyone she could consider a friend. That was okay, she had her two sets of parents, that was fine for now, especially since she only had another year of schooling before she was off to college. A liberal arts school would have plenty of weirdos she could make friends with. No problems there at all.

And yet… Lydia sighed, grabbing her bike and pedaling home. Sure, she had a license, she could technically drive. But if there was one person in that school she did not want to be like, it was Claire Brewster, who alternated between being driven and driving one of the many pink luxury cars her daddy had bought her affections with. Ah yes, Claire Brewster, and family. The only people Charles had managed to convince to come down here in his attempt to gentrify Winter River, mainly to make the cost of living less expensive for the residents. And to make money, as evidenced by a couple of trendy shops that had come down and were now struggling to ingratiate themselves to the Winter River residents who had lost some of their favorite places because of them. But back to cars, unfortunately, the only cars the Deetz family owned -the Maitlands’ minivan having been sold off by their cousin Jane before they’d even moved in- were also some of the finer brands in automobiles, Lydia preferred to bike nine times out of ten. Besides, Barbara had reminded her that biking most places was better for the environment anyways. Well, it was a nice day, spring after a long, cold, and lonely winter. For her, anyways. As for her four parental units, it seemed as though things had only just begun to heat up. But they were still keeping it under wraps for now, and Lydia was going to stay in the don’t ask-don’t tell camp until she had no choice but to confront them on it.

She leisurely pedaled home, stopping to take some photos of a couple of the buildings around town with her camera, and picking up some modeling supplies from the old hardware store. Adam had taken up miniature modeling in addition to antique restoring, and her father was working on building a studio for him and Delia -who had taken up separate artistic endeavors after the whole shattering realization that her life coach/guru whatever had been a fraud- to work on in peace, attached to the house so Adam wouldn’t become Sandworm chow naturally. Lydia stopped by the Winter River Cemetery and took some pictures of some headstones she found interesting, made sure to double check the Adam and Barbara’s headstones were being properly maintained. She wouldn’t put it past the snake in the grass cousin Jane to have left them to rot. She’d gotten the house and her money, and that was really all she’d cared about even from the start.

By the time Lydia got home it was late in the afternoon, a golden glow setting about the area. It looked so peaceful, and nice. She stopped at the top of the steps and took a deep breath in. A serene sigh escaped her as she looked out over the swath of town laid out like a comfortable patchwork quilt in the valley below; beautiful, and tranquil, and she had no one to share it with. Well… not anymore. In the months following everything that had happened, Lydia had tried to force herself to move on, to pretend that everything that had happened had given her the same opinion of the rest of her household; namely, that things were better without _him_. He had been a terror, a monster, a horror. But he’d also been her friend. And more, Lydia thought as her body had a reaction to even thinking about him. Unsurprising, considering she’d been doing quite a lot of thinking about him in less than savory matters pretty much since he’d left. But she’d never allowed herself to call for him. Married or not, he’d chosen to leave after the whole being alive thing hadn’t really worked out. Lydia was not going to let his ego be inflated by calling for him to come back to her. No, if he missed her -which he clearly didn’t since he hadn’t come back- he would have to come crawling back to her.

Inside the house, the four parentals were sitting together at the table, looking quite a bit closer than was strictly necessary for them to be. But again, don’t ask, don’t tell. Lydia greeted them and handed Adam the supplies for his models. Each of them greeted Lydia, with Charles and Barbara being the ones immediately going back to business, arguing over something on what looked like a blueprint.

“I just don’t know Charlie,” Barbara sighed, “Is that really going to be enough light and space? I don’t want to infringe upon the land, and we only have so much to work with-”

“What are they talking about?” Lydia asked as she looked to Adam and Delia, the former of which resting a fond arm around the other’s shoulders.

“Your father wants to add some space for Barbara to take up gardening,” Delia replied.

“Gardening?” Lydia raised a brow.

“Yes,” Adam nodded, “Barbara’s been raising a little herb garden in the attic, but Charles thinks she should have some space for bigger plants. We’re trying to figure out if we can make the upper level of the studio a greenhouse type space for her to work with.”

“Ah,” Lydia nodded sagely, “Well… why not make the roof a greenhouse?”

“Barbara’s convinced your father to put solar panels up there,” Delia answered, “To save on electricity. Putting a structure up there would only take away from the sunlight for the power.”

“Oh,” Lydia drawled, unsure of how putting a glass structure there would detract from sunlight hitting the panels, “Okay…”

“So, how was your day?” Adam asked, “I see you got the models for me, thanks.”

“Oh, you know,” Lydia shrugged, “Same old, same old I guess. Although, I had that science test today,”

“Oh right, how did that go?”

“Well, they tried to make me dissect a frog, it was so gross,” she paused, remembering the feelings of absolute disgust and revulsion as she’d looked at the amphibious corpse. trying to cover her feelings with a wan smile even as she fought back the bile that had risen in her throat that accompanied flashbacks to stabbing her… to stabbing _him_ in the back and through the heart, “I just couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?” Adam asked, “It’s not like… well,” he shrugged, clearly uncomfortable bringing up the demon even in passing, “You know.”

“I… I know,” Lydia affirmed, still trying not to think on it, “And I think I’ve done enough murdering for one lifetime. Anyways, I told them it was against my religion, so I got a C.”

“Lydia,” Adam shook his head with a fond smile, “And how was the math test?”

Lydia made a show of casting her gaze elsewhere, down and off to the side, keeping her mouth firmly out of view.

“Oh don’t tell me…” Adam lamented, “We studied all week for that test!”

He was so sincerely concerned Lydia couldn’t keep a straight face. She grinned up at him, expression saying, “gotcha!” even as her mouth didn’t.

“I got an A,” Lydia told him proudly, “Thank you so much for your help.”

“Anytime sweetheart,” Adam told her, “Anytime.”

“I… I’m gonna go work on my homework now.”

“Alright,” Adam and Delia waved her off, turning to their own conversation as she left.

But Lydia only deposited her bag on the floor of her room and changed out of her school uniform before ditching the prospect of being productive entirely. She didn’t feel like doing homework, she didn’t feel like taking photos. She didn’t feel like doing anything except being alone. It weighed on her, that Beetlejuice hadn’t come back. Weighed on and irritated her. He’d forced her into marrying him, and this was how she was repaid; he couldn’t even swing by to say hi. Adam and Barbara had said that time moved differently for the dead, but hell, he still could have dared to show his face to her. Lydia felt like she had made so much progress since she’d last met up with him, thanks to a therapist she could -with some slight adjustments- talk to about everything that had happened, the Maitlands had helped make the transitions easier too. Lydia felt like she was ready to handle him again, ready to see if everything that had happened had been more than just teenage rebellion and burgeoning sexuality. Hell, if it was more he’d be smug as shit to know that despite her (and her father’s) best efforts, Lydia hadn’t dated anyone in the time that he’d been gone. Her father hadn’t been trying to set her up on dates, but Lydia had found a way to do it anyways. Seemed you could take the teenager out of the rebellion but you couldn’t take the rebellion out of the teenager. Not that it mattered, every person she tried to date was either too sweet or just had the ring of hollowness about their ‘bad’ persona. And, maybe she was being shallow here but, not one of them could shape-shift, or pull off limbs, or anything remotely interesting. The most a lot of them could do was pretend they were being subtle as they tried to look up her skirts or down her bodices. And even that didn’t send tingles of awareness through her. Great, she was being looked at like a fuck toy, but even Beetlejuice had been better at it than this.

Thoughts surrounding whether or not she should just give in and call for him, bring him back to her side filled her head as she ducked through the hallways and headed for the roof. The roof. The place she’d first met him. At one of her lowest lows and ready to end it all. And even if for his own selfish reasons, he’d stopped her, in a roundabout way given her something to _live_ for again. And then he’d protected that life, said he wasn’t going to let anyone take it from her. And she’d never even gotten to thank him for it. Much like she had wished when Gone Mom was still Dead Mom, Lydia wished she could see him again, just one last time. Such were the thoughts in her head as she stepped out onto the platform nestled between the tower and slanting architecture that capped the house. The sun was beginning to set over Winter River, and Lydia breathed in the fresh air as she stepped through the window. The last rays of light felt warmer against the slight chill in the breeze that stirred her hair. Lydia fiddled with the band she’d moved to her right ring finger and sighed,

“Where are you Beetlejuice?” she asked what she thought was the empty air.

“Right here,” was the response of a gruff and gravelly voice. Lydia turned and there, in the exact same spot she’d first laid eyes on him, was Beetlejuice.

“Beetlejuice?” she questioned, shocked to see him there.

He gave her a wry grin, “That’s two,” he told her, holding up two fingers. When she didn’t say anything, and was clearly not intent on saying his name again he sighed, “Hey babes… been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Lydia asked, folding her arms over her chest and looking at him sternly.

“Well that…” he trailed off for a moment, “That’s a long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, how cruel am I? Don't worry, there's gonna be an epilogue chapter covering our couple's reunion in more detail. So, as always; please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you next time.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, it's been a while. And hopefully the length of this epilogue will explain why it took me about 3 months to write it. In all actuality though, it's hard to let go of a story that took up so much of my passion and imagination. Retelling the musical to look more into the characters and motivations I saw had so much potential limited only by the format of the stage was such a wonderful experience, and I didn't want to see it end. If you've been here since the beginning, thank you so much for joining me on this ride, and encouraging me with your kudos and comments. If you're just joining us now, I hope every chapter up until this point has made you feel, and that you've enjoyed it.
> 
> And now, without further ado, the final part of In the Spectre's Shadow, enjoy;

He’d decided to leave, and leave well enough alone. Naturally, he’d still had Juno to deal with and boy, the woman had _not_ been happy with him. Publicly. She had to be upset, protocol demanded the seen repercussions of matricide and assassination of a prominent higher up in the Netherworld bureacracy. Not that Hypatia was _gone_ gone. She was just… out of commission for a while as the sandworm tried and failed to break down her essence. Which meant, the New Arrivals was missing a supervising officer. Juno had dragged him back to her office and sat him down in front of her desk while she took the seat behind it.

“What the hell were you doing up there?” Juno snapped at him, chain smoking like a freight train, cigarette after cigarette being burnt, ashed, and replaced with a new one, “The whole point of the exile was for you to _not_ get into any further trouble Beetlejuice! And then you go and do this? You have absolutely no idea just how much chaos you’ve caused. All this paperwork! And you’d be lying if you even _tried_ to say you’d help sort through it all.”

“Fair enough,” Beetlejuice shrugged, “Can’t imagine things are easier for you now,”

“No they’re not,” Juno scowled at him, “And _you’re_ the biggest problem I have.”

“Whaddya mean?” Beetlejuice asked, raising a brow at her.

Juno sighed, and with a snap of her fingers a file so large the folder honestly should have ripped with all the papers it was just barely keeping together inside it floated over to her desk. She opened it, “You see this?” she gestured to a pile that was incredibly large, “This is everything from just the past three days. Not only did you convince the Maitlands to use their spectral powers, you caused them to be reckless, they let themselves be photographed, you gave a mortal the handbook and then let it get into the wrong hands! And, thanks to _your_ interference, you got the Maitlands to perform petty parlor tricks which humans then stood to make a profit off of! Do you not understand that we cannot allow there to be proof provided of existence after death? Does the fate of every soul that’s stuck down here mean nothing to you?” she snapped, then she sighed, “Oh who am I kidding? Of course you don’t care, not like anyone’s ever given a reason for ya to. But for the love of Christ Beetlejuice,” she tossed paperwork at him, “All this? Marrying a damn mortal? What the hell were you thinking? Or were you thinking at all?” and noticing him opening his mouth to respond she held up a hand and added, “And I _don’t_ mean thinking with yer dick!”

Beetlejuice paused, obvious and easy answer now taken away from him. Then he shrugged, “I dunno,” he sighed, “Was havin’ a good time, didn’t want it to end and be put back, thought I might like to try livin’ a little.”

“You were having a good…” Juno paused, “Just what were you doing up there? You got let out, and then three days later some mortal girl covered in your spectral signature comes running around down here causing chaos, and now your mother is stuck inside a sandworm trying to uphold her duty as the head of New Arrivals. Beetlejuice, you know we can’t let any mortal live with the knowledge that there is existence beyond death. At least not irrefutable knowledge. Do you know what’s going to happen to that girl because of you?”

“Careful how ya answer that Juney,” Beetlejuice growled, leaning forward in his seat, “Y’d dont wanna make me mad, and y’know how unpredictable I can be about what makes me angry.”

Juno sighed, “She’s gonna have a tough time of it kid,” she told him, ashing out her cigarette and lighting a new one, “As if her own personality wasn’t enough. She’s tied to you Beetlejuice, _tied_. You’ve effectively ruined her life, and her death, because of your own damn selfishness.”

“Ruined her- what the hell are you talking about?” Beetlejuice asked her, “Far as I remember those human vows going, it’s ‘til death do us part’.”

“And you were _already_ dead when ya married her!” Juno slammed her hands on the desk, standing abruptly as she tried to convey something he just wasn’t getting, “Oh forget it!” she sighed, “Like you’d care if she ended up stuck in a fate worse than most suicides if she tries to move on without you. You got to live, and that’s all that matters right?”

“Fate worse than- give it to me straight here!” Beetlejuice snapped, “What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“It means,” Juno snapped right back at him, “She’s your _wife_ , now and forever. You might have left, but if you leave her alone long enough…” she sighed and took a drag, “Beetlejuice human memory is a transient thing. Human emotions even more so. As much as I want you to stay away from that poor girl, if she moves on it could be her undoing.”

“What?”

“The higher-ups don’t take took kindly to infidelity Beetlejuice,” Juno reminded him, “Even less so when your marriage is considered to be less a green card one and more to uphold her honor. You made her damaged goods,”

“Lydia _ain’t_ damaged goods and those pricks better learn that real quick,” Beetlejuice growled, leaning forward and glaring menacingly.

“Just because it’s bullshit doesn’t mean that isn’t how they see it,” Juno replied, “Beetlejuice your actions have put her in a very precarious situation.”

“Well then…” he scrambled for an out. Anything to get Lydia out of trouble, “Can’t the marriage just be undone?”

“Undone? Undone!” Juno’s voice rose higher and higher as she repeated his question, “You have no _idea_ what kind of magic you messed with do you?” then her eyes turned faraway as she continued to speak, “It’s old shit, older than you, older than me, almost as old as existence itself. For what is life without death? You bound yourselves together, and what has been done cannot be _undone_.”

“But it was all a con!” Beetlejuice protested, feeling a pang even as he said it, “Lydia didn't mean…” he paused for a moment as what he realized privately finally seemed to sink in as he said it aloud, “Any, of it.”

“You sound unsure of that,” Juno remarked, sounding tired and older than she looked. But then, she'd been dead for hundreds of years, it was only par for the course, “Beetlejuice… do you love that girl?”

His immediate response was to scoff, fold his arms, and look away, “What?” He scoffed again, “Love? Pfft, as if. Demons don't know shit about love, and besides, who would fall in love with a boney little brat who runs away at the drop of a hat? More to the point who would be in love with the brat who not only skipped out on her end of the deal once, but also brought my mother back after I was content to think she was double dead after all this time?” He paused, waiting for Juno to say something. When she didn't, he assumed she was waiting for him to continue, so he allowed his own brand of kindness and affection for Lydia to come out, “I mean, sure; we had fun together. She's a sadistic little bitch, knows her way around a scare. Taught her a fair bit of how to find her way around my cock too. And you really can't compare sex with someone lacking in fluids to someone who isn't.”

“I didn’t ask about sex Beetlejuice,” Juno told him, “I asked how you felt about her. I know you, and you wouldn’t have caused all this- okay let me rephrase, you never would have _considered_ life as an option when you had your freedom already. Not to mention, I’ve seen your temper tantrums, even if all ya did want was a life, you’d have gone batshit when that little girl killed you. There’s nothing you hate more than being conned, so tell me, why the nonchalance now? Why the apathy? Where’s the rage and aggression I know yer capable of? Where’s the bloodlust and desire for carnage that I know you _would_ have unleashed on anyone else?”

“I…” Beetlejuice raised a finger to protest but finding no argument he could make convincing enough to beat hers he aimed for distraction instead, “Anyways,” he cleared his throat, “Got a question for ya Juney, what is my classification right now? I mean, I know I was born some sort of demonic Lovecraftian horror hybrid. But now that I’ve come to life and was killed… seriously, what the fuck does that make me?”

“A pain in my ass is what it makes you,” Juno groused, “And how the Hell did you even know your father was-” she huffed, “One of the Old Ones,” she finally allowed herself to say, placing a free hand on the desk and leaning her head into it while the other held the smoldering nicotine stick.

“Ma _might_ have went on a rant while in that house,” Beetlejuice replied, “But seriously, what am I?”

“You’re…” Juno sighed again, “Unlike anything anyone has ever dealt with,”

“Yeah I know,” Beetlejuice folded his arms and stared at her, “But like, what am I?”

“I don’t know!” Juno snapped at him, “No one knows,” she sighed, “Beetlejuice you’ve gone through several major stages of existence. You are unlike anything anyone has ever seen, ever _dealt_ with. None of us have any answers, there’s only one being who might…”

The way she trailed off into silence meant there was only one answer. And it was one he was going to go off to do anyways, “You mean my dad, right?”

Juno closer her eyes and made a pained expression, “Yes,” she sighed, “But I highly suggest you don’t. Nothing good comes from messing with the Old Ones, even seeking their knowledge and answers. Whatever you are, there’s no guarantee that he’ll know. And even if he does, there’s no guarantee he’ll tell you.”

“But there’s a chance he knows,” Beetlejuice countered, “A chance he knows what the point of all of this was, why I went through all that-”

“There’s also a chance he doesn’t,” Juno rebutted, “Or that even if he does, that he doesn’t care. The existence of humans and their worthless little lives barely registers to entities like that Beetlejuice. For all we know he may have decided to birth you just to cause chaos in the human worlds. Do you really want to find out you have no purpose or grander destiny? You want to learn once and for all that the whims of the Old Ones and whatever the hell else is causing this universe to exist has no greater purpose than staving off boredom and creating entertainment? Sometimes, things, people, there is no reason to any of it.”

“Since when have I ever listened to you about anything?” Beetlejuice asked her. It was meant to be cheeky, to aggravate her to no end. Instead, it came out tired and a little wistful. Like it was a harken back to old times when all he did was cause her trouble, first as her charge, and then as her assistant before getting into so much trouble he’d been sent topside.

“Beetlejuice,” Juno shook her head, pitying him, “You’re an unreliable narrator, even to yourself. What do you plan to do when someone tells you this is where your story ends? That this is all that was meant for you, if anything was even meant in the first place? Do you think your father, do you think he’ll give you some grand destiny to fulfil? Some charge or quest that will give your purpose and make you feared or revered? Bring the entire armies of Heaven and Hell down around you?”

For the first time in forever, Beetlejuice let himself be honest with his caseworker, “I don’t know what I want,” he told her. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t being honest. Because he knew what he wanted, and her name was Lydia Deetz, “But I can’t sit here on my ass for a millennium waiting to find out. I’m nothing no one understands,” except for one person, “And I gotta try and make sense of that.”

“You know Beetlejuice,” Juno told him, ashing out her cigarette and standing behind her desk, “If you go, you may never come back.”

“That’s a risk I’m willin’ to take,” Beetlejuice shrugged in response, “‘Sides, I’m sure most stiffs around here would celebrate at that.”

Juno sighed, “Look,” she began, looking awkward, “I’m not the maternal type, and your presence wasn’t something I ever expected or really liked having to deal with. But out of human decency I’m telling you that my feelings are conflicted when I think about you going off on some wild goose chase! I know it’s easy to think how much easier it would be on everyone if you weren’t around, but I know there’s going to be at least one person who might miss you. You’re a monster, but you’re not one without a master.”

“I don’t wanna hear you sayin’ shit like that,” Beetlejuice groused as he stood from his seat, dusting off his dingy jacket in show, “Messes with my mystique. I got a reputation to uphold ya know,”

“Right, right,” Juno shooed him with her hand, “And so do I, now get the hell outta my office!”

“Gladly,” he shot back, half smirking, half sneering as he made his exit. He was done with this place, for good. Or at least for the next few hundred years. He’d forgotten how much the Netherworld bureaucracy blew.

BJ BJ BJ

He’d thought that freedom would taste a little different. His marriage to Lydia might not have been a green card anymore, but it was the ultimate get out of jail free card. Recently deceased or not his marriage was legal and binding still. Which meant he was free from the jurisdiction of the damn afterlife. What a nice consolation prize, especially since now he could cause as much chaos as he wanted without fear of repercussions. Not that fear was something he really concerned about in regards to that. It wasn't so much fear as it was expectation of punishment. But Lydia’s ring on his finger meant no one else could touch him. Which was good, because finding the information required to track down his father was not something that could be garnered through honest means. And to be frank even if it was honesty was just not how he operated. There was only one person in any world he could ever be honest with, and even then he would gladly lie to and deceive her just to keep her by his side.

He couldn’t help but see the rest of Hell with new eyes because of Lydia. The places where souls had seen the emptiness and had decided this was not what they wanted out of death. A place literally built on the bones of those who had come first, just so souls now could continue to eek out a mundane afterlife existence. Lydia would have loved this place, constantly clicking away at the various sights that made up what its denizens called the Neitherworld. She’d find the magic in it, the romance. She had that melancholic romantic side to her, he remembered that. The times between scaring people where she’d just watch the scenery go by. He’d never been an artist, nor had he particularly cared, but if ever anything made him want to try something artistic it was the picture of her leaning against a window sill, a look of wistful melancholy on her face. And he’d probably paint her naked too, just for good measure. Well, not completely naked, maybe he’d put some sort of little collar on the painted visage, black and white striped so everyone would know who she belonged to.

But, she didn’t belong to him, now did she? More importantly, he’d chosen to leave her. He was free, there were plenty of people to fuck and then fuck over, he didn’t need her. He would just have to wait until after he found his damn father and then he’d go out and really live, so to speak. Beetlejuice managed to get everything he needed and opened a connection to the Old Ones. And, he really didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Definitely not a warm welcome and a hearty, “nice to finally meet you son!”, which was good because that wasn’t in the slightest what he’d gotten. The same indifference his mother had looked at him with after too long, a disappointment, a shame, a waste of time and effort. He hated to admit it but Juno had been right, there had been no grand purpose to his creation, it was just to create chaos. He wasn’t destined to set the Old Ones free, he wasn’t destined to help destroy them, he wasn’t destined for anything. Well, not _anymore_ , as his father had pointed out. At one point perhaps he had been meant for something greater, but the being that he had spawned with Hypatia had been taken so far off his original course destiny might as well have been a dream. He wasn’t the bloodthirsty killer who stole souls without remorse. He was a lonely misfit who only wanted companionship. The Netherworld Bureaucracy and his mother’s own incompetence with raising him had seen to that. His destiny had been forgone before he even had the chance to learn of it. All of it taken away through no real fault of his own. It was a shit hand, but so were most of the ones existence dealt. He just couldn’t believe a part of him had been… hoping for something more. Something he could accept or reject, but something that would put that kind of decision in his hands. And much like everything else he’d gotten from his father, that all added up to a big old pile of nothing.

Which left him adrift, adrift in the vast sea of apathy that was the universe. He knew what came after death, knew that no matter what you believed, no matter what kind of life you’d lead, everyone ended up in that damn waiting room. Everyone had to sit and wait their turn if they made their way into hell. There was no grander purpose, not unless you’d taken your own life in which case you’d be relegated to civil service. But once you were processed, there was absolutely nothing there for you. Which was why souls had constructed the Neitherworld. But even then, there was only something if you’d made it, and after so many centuries of existing there, eking out some facsimile of life, you lost your joie de vie, assuming you even had any to begin with. Returning from where the Old Ones rested left him feeling bereft. So, he did what any other sociopathic specter, demon, poltergeist thing did, and headed straight for the bars. The Netherworld was full of them, too many souls who wanted to forget the fact that they were dead, which lead to some fun brews. And since it was the land of the dead and nothing grew here, these boozes were made from those who managed to have contact with the other side. Those with their graves still taken care of, or who found other loopholes into the land of the living. Harvesting emotions and using them like grapes and barley and anything else that could be turned into an intoxicating beverage. Joy, sorrow, lust, emotions that humans felt all bottled up and left to age until the taste of them could drive a spirit into insanity.

But not even getting blasted off the emotions of other breathers was enough to make him forget all the time. So he sought a replacement. Meaningless sex in the meaningless arms of some nameless, faceless vixen of Dante’s. It all felt so unsatisfying, empty, emotionless, a poor imitation of what he’d once had. What he still had, technically. He’d left Lydia, true, but the marriage still bound them to one another. The problem was, he’d left before he could be told to leave, again. He didn’t want to come back only to face the rejection yet another person. People in the Neitherworld were useful for a good time, not a long time. The problem with eternity was that human nature got in the way, curiosity, and the realization that death rendered an absolute escape from pain meant people got all gung ho on the weirdest kinks they could think up. And they said that demons were depraved. Truly, there was nothing more depraved, violent, or flat out disgusting than a human being. But he was digressing. Sex, meaningless, and a lot of it. It didn’t do anything to replace the sensations of being inside and around Lydia Deetz, even though his imagination was normally a very good illusionist. Were he not in a whore house where they were used to it he was certain he would have gotten slapped at least a couple times. By now the girls all knew the name Lydia, they just didn’t know she was a breather. And yet, Dante’s was no place for him anymore. But to go back meant risking. Risking a lot. Risking rejection certainly, but it meant risking the realization of feelings he wasn’t supposed to have, emotions he refused to put a name to. And all of them circling around Lydia. It was easy enough to say he desired her, practically a no brainer to say that she was still his wife which meant he could do with her as he pleased. But Lydia was smart, smart enough that she’d see through all that bullshit pretention just like she had the night they’d met. And he wasn’t sure how ready or willing he was to be honest with her. Because again, he didn’t know what he might find by doing that. But he also didn’t wanna pull some disappearing act and make her think he’d forgotten about her completely. Failed vision quest notwithstanding she’d been on his mind for far too long not to. Fantasized about too much not to. Mortal snatch was addictive apparently, not that there had been any other breather who he had as a basis for comparison in that regard, but still.

Beetlejuice found himself standing in the middle of an empty and deserted street. Time meant nothing here in the Neitherworld but most folks abided by time for a sense of normalcy and something left of their humanity to hold onto. And yet he was all too keenly aware of the passing of time. Every second spent apart from Lydia was a second wasted. Sure, their marriage had brought him to life, but there was no guarantee that it shared his agelessness in death with her. She wasn’t part dead, not as far as he knew. And Juno had been hella evasive about everything except for the idea that if she did in fact die she would be punished if she’d cheated on him, even if she hadn’t meant to. Maybe he was still drunk on those fermented emotions, but Beetlejuice just knew he couldn’t keep doing this. He didn’t have to face rejection just yet. He was a goddamn ghost… demon… thing. He knew what it was like to be invisible. He could make use of no one seeing him, and go back and be near her until he was ready to chance being with her again.

Finding a way out of the Netherworld was surprisingly easier the second time around. Of course, that could be because his marriage status held enough clout to cut through the otherwise massive sea of red tape that wrapped up just about everything else, but who could say for sure. But once back in the land of the living he headed straight for that house in Winter River. He had to be a bit more careful, because the denizens would be able to see them, assuming they hadn’t already attempted to forget him. At the very least, Lydia would. And he didn’t want her to see him, not until he was ready for her to. So, rather than hang around in corporeal form, he turned himself incorporeal. Invisible, unseeable, and undetectable, for the most part. Adam and Barbara usually chalked up any spectral unusualness to the fact that they were ghosts now, as did Chuck and Red. Beetlejuice had to exercise a great deal of restraint to keep any pranks minute and something that could be easily chalked up to mortal error rather than spectral demonic intervention.

Especially around Lydia. Beetlejuice watched her the most, which meant he ran the risk of being discovered being extremely high. Only at home though, Winter River was in terms of ghosts hanging around being dead, dead, deadski. The Deetz-Maitland house was honestly the biggest hot zone in a fairly large area, which meant that he had enough of a cover so long as he stayed there. The big problem was that Lydia, Lydia thought of him. It should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. Because it was so hard for him not to reveal himself watching her touch herself to thoughts of him. He knew because she would say his name. Whisper it through bitten lips with a voice broken from attempting not to call him directly and not to alert the other members of her household as to what she was doing. It was torture, not only to watch that specific act repeat itself countless times, but to simply watch her and long to join her. She looked good, lighter, happier, if a bit more reserved with her emotions at times. Personally, he thought that she kept it in too much, only letting out her feelings through her artistic talent, and all he wanted to do was tell her it was okay to feel, to break something, he could always fix it. That he could be there for her, her rock, her punching bag, whatever she needed him to be.

But how could he? He’d gotten her forgiveness, but did he truly deserve it? He’d forced her hand into marriage, and it was easier to admit to himself than anyone else why. Lydia, it had always been about Lydia. About having her, holding her, keeping her close to him. Her rejection, however minute, had not warranted his reaction. Sure, he was a dramatist who overreacted quite frequently, that was just his nature. But in his defense, the thought of losing Lydia had perhaps torn any sanity or sense of newly discovered peace right out from under him and thus he’d been willing to do anything to change what seemed like an inevitable fate. And as attempting to continue existing without her had shown him, it wasn’t something he was remotely good at doing.

Beetlejuice didn’t feel remorse. Not for any action, not for anybody. But Lydia deserved it. He didn’t blame her for the actions she took; she may have been special but she was still so young. She had lost someone she cared about, and yet despite all he had done, despite all _she_ had gone through; she’d had the kindness of heart not only to sacrifice herself to save Barbara, but to forgive him. The question was, had he deserved it? No, probably not. Which meant that the question of did he deserve Lydia had the same response. He didn’t deserve her, but he wanted her all the same. And if her late night nocturnal meanderings were any indication, there was a very good chance she wanted him too. But it wasn’t the same way he wanted her, and that in itself just wasn’t enough. To be seen and desired, he once thought that would be all he needed. But being with Lydia made Beetlejuice realize that all he wanted was one person, one person to connect with; one person who really, truly got him; one person who could soothe the beast and call upon him, who accepted him for what he was. A monster. Though he didn’t possess one of his own Beetlejuice knew in his metaphorical heart that Lydia was that one person. But was he hers?

It pained him, to not go to her, but he was a creature of self-preservation. A name called out once in the midst of the height of passion was no more honest than faking an orgasm in his book. Well, okay, faking a climax was actually worse but one got the idea. Beetlejuice wanted to have some inkling, some indication, that there was more to her emotions concerning him than that. The fact that the used thoughts of him to get off -while flattering- and kept the fancy and expensive looking ring on weren’t it. He wanted her to call for him. And in the meantime? He had time, he could wait forever.

The day had gone by slower than usual today. Maybe it was the fact that the weather was looking up. Nice days and heat always made the hours pass by slower because daylight lasted longer. Or maybe it was because it was, according to all the conversation he’d overheard, the last day before a break of some kind. Beetlejuice didn’t know what it was about today, but it just seemed to drag on forever. But at last he saw the bike cycling down the lane, stopping at the foot of the hill and being walked back up. Lydia was home. Typically while she was out for the day he’d spend his time up on the roof or playing benign pranks on the inhabitants. But all he’d wanted to do was watch the sky go by. It had been a nice day, picturesque by all accounts. Not the sort of day _he_ found particularly appealing, but adequate weather for doing stuff. At the very least Babs’ little garden would be doing well. Beetlejuice noticed as Lydia paused on the porch looking over the scenery she held some boxes in her hands. Oh right, Adam had taken up model building hadn’t he?

She went inside, and typically about this time he would follow her around the house, unseen and hopefully undetected, as she went about her own business. But something about the day made him not want to move. Like a snake on a heating rock, already perfectly at ease so that there was nothing he felt he needed to do. No need to move, no need to do anything at all except stay there. So there he stayed, leaning against the chimney in much the same manner he had been the night he and Lydia had met. It was easy to get lost, lost in thought, lost in memory, lost in those feeling he totally didn’t have. To the point where he almost didn’t notice when a leg clad in black stuck itself through one of the windows and out onto the roof.

Much like that self-same night, Lydia Deetz came crawling through the window. But unlike before, she held no note she was reading to herself as she hurried for the edge ahead of her. As for her attention though, that was distracted by the vista ahead and the preoccupation with the ring on her finger. She’d moved it, if he recalled it was supposed to be symbolic of widowhood, that her husband had died. Well, technically he suppose that was true. Too bad most Breathers didn’t get the chance to know that being dead didn’t really stop anybody, or marriage statuses as far as the Powers that Be were concerned. Though it was easy to snap out of daydreams and fantasies when the source of them was standing right in front of him, Beetlejuice noticed that Lydia seemed… downtrodden. Wistful, perhaps even a bit sad. The fading light of day was a pretty contrast to her chiaroscuro paletting. Yes, he knew a thing or two about artistry, you couldn’t travel around humanity and not, at the very least, once upon a time you couldn’t. He wasn’t particularly fond of poetic language but having a couple of high brow terms in one’s vocabulary never hurt when it came to cons. Still, Lydia was someone who defied all language. He could think up a million words, in countless languages living and dead and not a single one of them would ever be able to capture her.

How long she stood there, just breathing, he couldn’t say. Beetlejuice could and had watched her for hours. Time had no meaning if it meant he could spend it staring at her. Lydia was fiddling with the ring he’d put on her, twisting it and anxiously keeping her gaze out over the horizon. Was she looking for him? Dare he hope she wanted him back? For real?

His questions were answered when he heard her sigh and ask to the open air, “Where are you Beetlejuice?”

She said his name, wondered where he was. Sure, it wasn’t a summons, but it was more than he’d ever hoped to hear her say of him outside the times she got off to thoughts of him. Speaking of which, he would need to bring that up with her at some point, but right now she deserved a response,

“Right here,” he told her, and took in the shocked face she made as she turned and looked at him.

Her mouth had dropped open like a little fish, and he was painfully reminded of the last time she’d had her mouth that wide around him, literally and metaphorically.

“Beetlejuice?” she questioned, apparently not trusting her own eyes.

“That’s two,” he made an attempt at humor, holding up two fingers in response. But she didn’t say it a third time, and by the look on her face, didn’t seem inclined to just yet. He sighed, knowing that perhaps the idea of her throwing herself into his arms had been a _bit_ unrealistic, even though stranger things had already happened, “Hey Babes,” he greeted, pausing a moment as he tried to think of something, anything else to say, “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

Lydia folded her arms at him, now looking slightly more pissed off than she had just a second earlier. At the very least the pose pushed up her tits for his viewing pleasure, and they seemed to have grown in his absence,

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked him.

He wanted to respond that he’d been _in_ Hell thank you very much; but somehow he also knew that would fail to land as a joke with the current atmosphere. So, he sighed,

“Well that…” Beetlejuice paused a moment, trying to figure out where to start, “That’s a long story.”

Her folded arms were then accompanied by a raised brow, “Try me,” she countered.

It was hard to believe that the one time she allowed herself to call for him, let herself acknowledge she missed him, he would be there. Beetlejuice had such an irritatingly accurate sense of timing for this sort of thing. More importantly, it begged the question of why he hadn’t shown up the times she slipped up and let his name escape her when she was… okay, maybe that was a blessing in disguise. Or maybe it wasn’t. He was a sexual being, he’d certainly be able to understand her lusting after him, he’d take it as just another stroke to his ego. Lydia didn’t know at this point if it was better or worse that he’d come now, she just wanted to know where he’d been, what he’d been doing, and though she wouldn’t ask him outright, if he had missed her as much as she’d grown to miss him.

“Well…” he paused again, trying to think of a way to tell the story without making himself sound pathetic. Even though he’d literally grovelled at her feet Beetlejuice did not want to make himself look sappy for some mortal. She’d never let him forget it. Nor did he want her to pity him by learning about how the father he’d gone looking for had been just as Junebug had warned him, “Y’know what they say, never meet yer heroes n’ shit like that.”

“They do say that,” Lydia allowed, “But as I recall, you went on a vision quest to find your dad, not your hero,”

“Okay, then how about this?” Beetlejuice offered in response, “Parents fuckin’ suck. Moms, Dads, they all suck big black fuckin’ horse-”

“I get it,” Lydia cut in, not really wanting that particular image placed in her head, “So… the vision quest didn’t go well I take it?”

Beetlejuice scoffed, “My old man’s an asshole same as my ma. Junebug may be a stick in the mud, but at least she made an attempt. I’m jus’ not good at followin’ rules,”

“If I recall you once told me you didn’t have any rules,” Lydia gave him a wan smile as she looked at him. How easy it was, how natural to fall back into the quips and the teasing and everything else. Like he’d never been gone, like she’d never been missing him. But he had. He _had_ left, and she _had_ missed him, even if she wasn’t about to say as much.

“Damn straight, gay, and ev’rythin’ in between,” he chuckled. There was an awkward silence between the two of them, as the conversation petered out and they tried to think of what to say next, “So…” he began, standing and kicking at nothing, “How’s the whole… y’know, being alive thing?”

“It’s… it’s going,” Lydia shrugged, “Taking it one day at a time, it’s, there’s been a lot that’s happened since you left.”

“You finally find Dead Mom or some shit?” Beetlejuice asked before pausing a moment, “I mean, not that your mom is some shit it’s just… I mean-”

“I know what you mean,” Lydia stopped him before the metaphorical foot in mouth turned into a literal one, “And no, but Mom… she never wanted to be found, so there’s no point in looking.”

“Now that’s strange,” Beetlejuice remarked, “Last I knew every stiff was dying to be found, t’be called back so they could really say their goodbyes. Very few of ‘em get to die with no regrets, and no baggage.”

“Well, that might be because… my mom isn’t dead,” Lydia offered. She watched as he paused while the revelation sank in. And suddenly, he seemed far more awkward,

“Oh, um…” he began, trying to think of words to say but failing because really what was there to say to that sort of statement, “So… I guess your trip to the Netherworld was somewhat enlightening then?”

Lydia laughed mirthlessly and shrugged, “In a manner of speaking I guess,” she folded her arms, holding herself because the wound was still fresh and she wasn’t about to cry in front of him, “My dad knew the whole time,”

“He _knew_?” Beetlejuice repeated, “And he didn’t tell ya? I swear to Satan he’s a dead man let me at him right now!”

He rushed forward and Lydia found herself having to bodily stop him from going into the house and killing her father, “No!” she’d exclaimed, much like that night on the roof where he’d suggested they assassinate him together.

And then, they realized their proximity and backed apart slowly and awkwardly. Lydia immediately went back to holding herself, trying to ignore how good it felt to have the material of his grimy suit beneath her fingers again. Beetlejuice was attempting to ignore the twin spots of warmth where her hands had been.

He coughed to break the silence, “So,” he began, “There more to this story or you gonna allow me to stew in hatred for your dearest daddy babes?”

“He told me why he did it,” Lydia offered, “And, I get it, to some extent. The night Mom left, she did it without telling anyone. I never even noticed something was wrong, but there was. And, from the way Dad described it… there was never any intention for me to go with her,” it was easy to forget, with her abrasive defense walls almost always up, just how small Lydia really was. He wanted to gather her up and tell her to forget her mom. But being told to forget the woman was part of the reason things had gone so far in the first place,

“Anyways,” Lydia continued, “He said that he didn’t want to hurt me by telling me my mother…” she still couldn’t bring herself to say it, “So, he thought it would be easier for me to accept it if I’d thought she’d died. He never imagined I’d be willing to jump into Hell to go after her.”

“You’re a tenacious one,” Beetlejuice told her, “Knew it from the first moment I met ya,”

“And here I thought you’d thought me easy,” Lydia teased, looking at him out the corner of her eye.

“Easy on the eyes? Hell yeah,” he admitted without shame, “But it only took about five words to convince me you were no patsy,”

“Patsy? Really?” Lydia chuckled a little bit, “That’s what you decided to go with?”

“I couldda called ya a rube, but since you’re from the city it wouldn’t have fit,”

Lydia paused a moment, “Fair,” she allowed, “So I wasn’t easy, in any sense of the word. Now that I think about it I wasn’t the easiest to deal with during that time either. I’m… I’m doing better now. Not great all the time but y’know, good. I’m going to therapy,”

“Therapy? Like with the couch and the shrink who links everything back to some Freudian bullshit about wanting a dick?”

“You know Frued?”

“He’s only the Netherworld’s leading conversion therapist,” Beetlejuice scoffed, “No matter how many new therapists we get, he’s still held up as a fuckin’ genius for some reason.”

“Conversion therapist?” Lydia cocked her head at him, “Like… to help keep you from being… gay or something?”

“What? No,” Beetlejuice scoffed again, “He’s a transitional counselor, helps people having issues adjusting to the whole being dead thing.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Lydia realized, “Alright, is that all he does?”

“No, if you want he’ll also tell you all your issues are linked back to the fact that as a female your secret hidden desire is wanting a dick.”

“Wanting a dick,” Lydia repeated, folding her arms, “Really,”

“Yep,” Beetlejuice nodded, “Whether or not you want a dick for you or _in_ you is something he leaves up to interpretation though,”

“Classy,” Lydia remarked, “So… what brings you back here?”

“Well uh, conjugal visits, y’know, shit like that,”

“Conjugal visits?” Lydia raised a brow, “What, so we’re still married?”

“‘Ccording to their rules, yeah,”

“And since when do you care about shit like that?”

“Since can’t nothin’ be done t’break it, an’ believe me Babes, I asked.”

The words struck her in an unexpected way. He’d asked. Asked on how to end their marriage. It was one thing to think that death itself had done it. It was quite another to find out it wasn’t and that he’d tried to end it anyways. Lydia didn’t know how to feel about that, if it meant that it was something he’d wanted because he no longer wanted to be tied to her, or because he thought she no longer wanted to be tied to him.

“Oh,” she said slowly, “I guess it would make sense, since you technically didn’t get what you wanted and all…”

“Whaddya mean by that?”

“That you’d want to dissolve the marriage,” Lydia shrugged, “I mean, it’s not like either of us wanted to be married for the same reasons most people get married so it’s just stupid that we went through with it anyways. But I figured they would at least be somewhat progressive at that point-”

“Babes,” Beetlejuice interjected, “It’s ‘til death do us part; I was already dead, you ain’t yet.”

“So all I have to do is die and it’ll be taken care of then?”

“D’ya really wanna die?” Beetlejuice asked her, “Thought you went on this whole life-changin’ journey into Hell and decided to stick around, or did I mishear that?”

“No I mean, I want to stay alive but,” Lydia sighed, “Words aren’t really my strong suit right now,”

“Honesty ain’t really mine,” Beetlejuice replied, “But I’d say this particular suit’s pretty strong, been wearing it for the last couple millennia after all.”

“It’s a wonder I can’t smell a thing,” Lydia mused, “But I did spend three days around you, must have gone nose blind.”

They shared a short chuckle before the awkward silence crept back in. And it wasn’t awkward because things were awkward between them, in the sense that the banter and conversation still flowed easily. But it was hard. So hard to admit to someone you liked them when you weren’t sure they liked you back, especially with the sordid sort of history they had. For her part, Lydia didn’t want to be laughed at for her puny mortal emotions daring to let her slip and fall for a disgusting perverted demon. For his, Beetlejuice barely understood feelings to begin with. His conversation with Juno had proved as much. He understood lust, desire, envy, wrath. Any emotions that were sinful in nature were natural to him. But softer emotions, like love, or kindness, those were foreign to him. He could do slightly less of an asshole, and that was about it. In general, but Lydia made him -for lack of a better word- feel things. She made him feel, in ways and levels he’d never thought he’d be capable of. But to make himself the weak one again, to let himself hope, he’d be thrice the fool despite the proof. And yet, Lydia was worth taking that risk.

But apparently he’d waited too long, because Lydia cleared her throat and said, “Well it’s nice to know you’re back in town, pranks aren’t as fun when you don’t have anyone to share the laughs with you..” she paused a moment, “I’m, I’m gonna head back inside, let me know if you need anything, out here on the roof.”

“What? I ain’t allowed back inside?” he let a wry smirk curl the corner of his lips.

“Not on your afterlife,” Lydia shot back, turning to head back inside. And here he felt like he was letting her slip away, running into the cold abyss of the Netherworld all over again. He couldn’t let her go without saying _something_.

“Y’know, Lyds,” he said, causing her to pause and look back at him. He was so concerned with getting the words out in a way that made sense without making him vulnerable that he didn’t see the tiny spark of hope in her eyes, “I… the reason I came back… it wasn’t jus’ cuz of a conjugal visit know what I mean?”

“If not for that, then why?” her voice was soft, almost a whisper with the enormity of the situation looming over her. She was pretty certain she knew what he was getting at. She knew she hadn’t been misreading the awkward vibe in the air as being solely on her end because of her feelings. But the problem was that she wasn’t sure if it was because he knew and reciprocated them, or he was trying to let her down because even if not romantically, he still cared, “What did you come back for, Beetlejuice?” she breathed.

His gaze rose from her feet to look her directly in the eyes. And only a single word fell out of his mouth, “You,”

Time stopped. He’d said it. He’d actually said it. Lydia put a hand to her lips. She’d never actually expected him to say it. But it wasn’t just _what_ he’d said, it was everything else that came along with it. The curtness, the gruffness mixed with resigned fondness you wouldn’t discern unless it was being looked for. So much that spoke to the true depth and meaning behind the word. And maybe she was crazy, reading too much into things, hearing from that single word what she most wanted to hear; her demon falling for her, invisible, unseen Lydia Deetz.

And then he added, “You know what that means, dontcha?”

Much like she had upon their wedding Lydia refrained, “I do,” soft and hushed and almost disbelieving of him. But she did, she _wanted_ to believe him. Because it meant that he loved her, and she loved him too.

It was an enormity that begged requitting, and he asked when she did not willingly provide, “Do you…” he paused, attempting once more to find words. Words, always words, always them needing to be the right one. But he was understandably wary, she’d used the concept of love and adoration to fool him once before, “Is there somethin’ else you-” he huffed, running his fingers through his hair as he attempted to communicate what he desired from her, “do you have an answer for me then?”

“I-” Lydia felt her breath catch in her chest. It was all so enormous. She knew how she felt, or how she thought she felt in her mind. She’d missed him, had been thrilled and angry to find out he was back. But she too was wary. She didn’t want to answer too quickly, lest he think it was just another trick, or that she was saying it only because he’d said it first, even though he hadn’t really _said_ much of anything. In reality, it was because more than anything else, Lydia was afraid. He was the closest she’d ever let anyone get to her, in a way different from how close she’d let the Maitlands or her mother get. It was an all new sort of vulnerability. He at least, could disguise his affections as something dark and dangerous and possessive. Lydia didn’t doubt in fact that that was what his feelings were. He didn’t know kindness or tenderness, he knew all-consuming flames, the darker side of life, of humanity.

But was she okay with that? She knew what getting involved with him would entail. He would be jealous, possessive, perhaps even a bit controlling. But he would also make sure she was seen, heard, and he could bring her pleasure the likes of which no mortal man would ever be able to compare to. He understood her, and to that end, letting him in was scary, because the thought of _losing_ him was scary. She didn’t want a repeat of what had happened with her mother, where she let her heart be fully opened only to have it broken and shredded with her left on her own to pick up the pieces. She’d finally made herself whole, she didn’t want to be broken again.

“I… need time,” Lydia eventually answered, after realizing he was waiting on her to answer. She didn’t know why she’d said it, because she was relatively certain what her answer was going to be, but everything was all over the place and that was the first thing that had come out of her mouth in response.

Beetlejuice had watched the shock of what he had revealed to her wash over her. She was overwhelmed, he was too. Hope mixed with genuine fear of rejection. If he didn’t have Lydia, what would he do? His immediate thought would be that he’d never find out, she was his. His wife, which meant if he really wanted to he could simply kidnap her and keep her with him always. Hatred, as he’d observed, was a passion. Passions could burn out, and if he could keep her placated with good sex there was nothing to worry about. Lydia may not have belonged in the land of the dead but he could keep her there until he figured out where in the living world they could go. Maybe some place in Europe, she’d probably like it there. But then he had his answer. Time, she needed time. Which he thought was ridiculous, hadn’t she had enough time to figure out this thing while he’d been gone? She’d been thinking about him, wasn’t that proof enough that she wanted him in the same way he wanted her? But he could play nice, she was probably still shocked that he was back, add this on top of it… he could play the long con. Not _too_ long, but long enough. If it took her a little while, he could feign patience. Said false patience would not last very long, but he could put on a show. Everything he did was in effect a show, a performance to keep whatever audience was watching on his side. He was the bad guy, the villain, and this he was very much aware of. He was no hero, anti or otherwise. He was selfish, dark, the exact opposite of a hero. He may have been Lydia’s savior on a technicality, but he’d never had her best interests at heart. Even now, he wasn’t willing to allow Lydia to say no to him, even if it meant her hating him.

And yet, what came out of his mouth was, “Sure Babes, take all the time ya need. I’ll be right here,”

Lydia gave a feeble smile in response, “Thank you,” she said with a nod of her head. And with that, she headed inside. Welp, nothing to it, might as well watch the stars.

BJ BJ BJ

Lydia was grateful that he gave her the chance to let her think his confession -if one could really call it that- over; despite how evident it was from the way his body seemed coiled with energy and tension that spoke of his impatience. She knew what he wanted her to say to him, he wanted her to say yes and damn all other consequences. But the problem with choosing life, was choosing all the consequences that came with it. She’d chosen life, and love, and family. And her family, _hated_ Beetlejuice. Could she really shun them all for him again? When they’d stood up for her, protected her, chased after her and all to try and help her? Could she give them up for the minute chance that Beetlejuice loved her? He didn’t understand love, though it was something he’d craved and desired for longer than she had known him.

More importantly, she’d thrown everything away once before for someone she thought had loved her. And while she was certain her mother _did_ love her, it just hadn’t been as much as she loved herself. She didn’t have any proof that Beetlejuice held even that much sentiment. So was she willing to choose him? And why did she even have to choose? Could he really accept sharing her with the family she had made of the broken pieces scattered around her? She didn’t know, most of the time they had spent together they’d done so completely on their own. Beetlejuice was selfish, knowing him, he probably wouldn’t. 

Dinner was an awkward affair. Lydia was silent, slowly pushing around the delicious meal Barbara had prepared without really eating anything. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the four sets of eyes that had been monitoring her through the evening even as the chatter went on. But Lydia couldn’t eat. All she could do was think, think about the demon who waited for her answer up on the roof. About the choice he would have her make, him, or her family. And even if he didn’t, even if he allowed her to stay here, to share her life with him and all her other loved ones; there was no way that any of the others would be content to allow him back into their lives and afterlives. Her father had nearly had an aneurysm, and had very quickly sent her off to be tested for pregnancy and any communicable diseases as well as putting her on birth control to ensure that nothing like that could ever happen again. He really didn’t _want_ Lydia to be having sex period, but recognized that short of having an actual chastity belt put on her (completely impractical as a solution anyways- there was very little he could do beyond getting her set up to be safe about it. That and putting her in Miss Shannon’s. Beetlejuice, especially after all he had done, would never be looked at as the ideal son in law. Charles would sooner risk his life doing everything he could to keep Beetlejuice away from Lydia than willingly welcome him back. And he’d sooner force Lydia to choose, assuming Beetlejuice didn’t just take what he wanted regardless. Barbara and Adam would be the same way. Delia… well honestly Lydia wasn’t sure what Delia might think out of the situation, so it wasn’t worth worrying over.

When dinner finished Lydia took her plate and scraped off all the food she hadn’t eaten into the garbage, rinsing off the porcelain and setting it into the rack to dry. She decided she still needed time to think, and headed for her room. Sitting down on her bed she had only barely closed the door when there came a knock at it. No surprise there, she’d had to pass all four of her parents on her way up here. Lydia was attempting to think of how best to fob off Barbara; as nice as the woman was she simply wouldn’t understand. She was far too… normal to put it mildly. She didn’t say to come in, but the door opened anyways, and sticking in her head through the minute crack, was,

“Delia?” Lydia raised a brow. Typically the redheaded woman fobbed all interpersonal stuff onto Barbara, knowing the other woman would be able to handle it better. And yet, here she was.

“Hey there Lydia,” Delia raised a hand, clearly trying to emulate maternal support even though it wasn’t her forte. Lydia almost wanted to tell her to stop, much as she had when the woman was her life coach. But in a bizarre twist, Delia might actually be the perfect person to talk to since she was honestly the least likely to get mad at the prospect of Beetlejuice being back. Sure, he’d tried to force her to marry him too, but really she was the most level-headed of all of them, “Mind if I come in?”

“No,” Lydia sighed, “Actually, if you got sent in on talk to Lydia duty I may as well take the opportunity of you being removed and slightly less uptight than everyone else in the house,”

Delia put a hand to her heart and smiled, “Lydia,” she said, “That’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me. Alright, so let’s have some girl talk,” she added closing the door and going to sit with Lydia on the bed, “What’s on your mind that you can’t talk to the others about?”

“Well…” oh dear lord how was she supposed to bring this up? “Delia I- how would you feel if your ex-husband came back one day and said he wanted you back in his life?”

It was as good a hypothetical as any. Delia had lost a spouse before because he’d left, and she’d rebuilt her life through it. Making her think about it in that manner was a good way of getting at the situation without risking blowing Beetlejuice’s cover too early.

Delia paused for a moment as she mulled the scenario over in her mind. Then she shrugged and said, “Well my ex-husband is very firmly gay so I doubt that would ever happen.”

“But supposing he wasn’t gay,” Lydia protested, desperate to have the woman take it seriously, “Suppose he did come back and say he wanted you back now, and you know the rest of the household isn’t going to like him because of all the pain he put you though, but there’s a part of you that-” she took a deep breath and sighed, “That still cares. How could you ever make a choice?”

Delia very quickly realized it was not her former marriage that her step-daughter was referring to. It was, in fact, more than likely related to the demon who’d put the ring on Lydia’s hand that she still wore to this day. What Delia wasn’t sure of was if Lydia was thinking in hypotheticals because of wishful hope, or if Beetlejuice really was back and such was the dilemma Lydia now found herself in. Regardless, Delia understood why the young woman felt she couldn’t go to Barbara or Charles or Adam with this conflict. Their opinions on the striped bastard were very clear and very harsh. But Delia got it, every girl loved the bad boy, and Delia had dated more than a few in her own time. Besides, it was very evident that before everything had gone to hell, the demon and her step-daughter had shared a very special bond. Three days didn’t seem like enough time to fall in love with anyone, but then again, neither did the concept of love at first sight. And there were plenty of love stories surrounding that too. Lydia had certainly spent her fair share of time mooning over the man, maybe it was more than an adolescent crush.

But as for her question, Delia sighed, “Lydia, I would love to give you advice on this. Truly, I would. But the problem is that I’m not you. And I’m only barely beginning to be myself again,”

“Be yourself?” Lydia cocked her head at the other woman, “You’re not going to turn into the wicked stepmother on me now are you?”

“Oh heavens no!” Delia laughed, “But I won’t deny that I am, in a sense, a bitch. I had to be, perfection was expected of me and when I failed to live up to it I was punished by not feeling love or a sense of home. Being callous was a method I used to protect myself, and it’s something that never really goes away after so many years. I wasn’t content to be simply my ex’s trophy wife so I decided to forge my own path as an artist, and yet when I lost him I lost all sense of myself. I’m slowly coming to terms with who I am, and how I have changed, but that doesn’t mean all that I have been will ever really go away.”

Delia shifted her weight to one side and took Lydia’s hands in her own, “I would never take my ex-husband back because I had to reforge myself anew after he left me the way he did. He broke me in a way very few people ever have, and I can never forgive him for it. However,” she added, “Love can take a multitude of forms. And the depth of one’s love can mean they will forgive atrocities they otherwise wouldn’t.”

“But… say you _did_ make the choice to…” Lydia shrugged, “Would you do it knowing the others would hate having him around because of all the shit he pulled?”

“Lydia I know I’m not your life coach anymore but allow me to take this moment to teach you something very important. You have got to take the upper hand in all situations or else people whether they are dead or alive, will walk all over you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Delia smiled at her stepdaughter, “It means,” she began, “That you are old enough to make your own decisions, and part of taking ownership of your decisions is standing up for them in the face of whoever may disapprove, whatever their intentions behind it may be.”

She cupped Lydia’s face in her hand a moment before patting the hands still in her other. Then Delia stood and left Lydia to mull even further.

Lydia spent the rest of the night laying in her room in the dark, just thinking about what Delia had said. Take the upper hand in all situations. What did that even mean? Was she referring to Beetlejuice? Or was she referring to the concept of telling her family about him being back? Was Delia telling her to own her choice, whatever it was? It was all so confusing. Lydia felt her head begin to throb. Too much thought, and worry, and fear. Why was she afraid? Beetlejuice was a scary man, at least when his juice was let loose on unsuspecting normies. To her he just looked like some dead guy, an attractive dead guy, but nonetheless just a dead guy. He had the power to shake worlds, but had kicked rocks around with her for three days. There had been no need for him to stay, she’d released him, so why had he? More importantly, why had he come back? He’d told her that, hadn’t he; because he’d wanted _her_ . She was what he’d come back for, _who_ he’d come back for. Lydia wasn’t afraid of him, but then what caused the fear she was feeling?

It shouldn’t have been scary, not when he’d confessed first. She knew he wanted her, loved her even, in his own way. There was no fear of rejection, not on her part. She knew, he didn’t. But she wasn’t taking quite so much pleasure in denying him the knowledge, not the same way she’d reveled in his desperation that first night on the roof. Lydia stared up into the darkness, having exchanged her regular clothes for a black silk nightgown at least an hour ago. Why were things so complicated? With Dad and the Maitlands, there was no possible way either side would share. And Lydia didn’t want to have to choose, because she didn’t know if she _could_. And then there was Delia’s advice rattling around in her head. Take the upper hand, don’t let people walk all over you. Was she letting her father and the Maitlands’ opinions and censure cloud her judgement? What was the issue, down at its core? It was that Beetlejuice had told Lydia he wanted her, only her, and that he’d come back precisely for her alone. And what was the answer to his declaration that lay deep in her heart, with no interference from anything else? It was just them and the house, alone, like it had been when all this started. What did Lydia want to say to him? How did she want to answer?

Yes. Yes was the response that sounded with the constant beating of her still working heart. She wanted him to want her. She wanted him to come back for her and only her. She wanted… she wanted him to love her, in any way he could. She- Lydia loved him. It was scary, but first loves often are. Perhaps… perhaps it was scary because it was his first love too. Neither of them really knew the power to completely decimate the other they held in their hands. But Lydia didn’t want to hurt him, not like that. She wanted to forget everything else existed, to pull pranks and have fun and at the end of a long day settle into his chilled embrace. The bedsheets had been far too warm in his absence. She wanted to break every law of what was right or wrong with him, explore the possibilities only he could bring to life. Lydia wanted to love him, just as much as she wanted him to love her. And damn the consequences of what anyone else -living or dead- might say.

Lydia knew she had asked for time. And she knew that though her heart was sure she shouldn’t go racing off to tell him. But once again, Delia’s words echoed in her mind. Take the upper hand. She held it already, but she was going to commit while there was no one who could cloud her mind with thoughts of what society said was right. Lydia knew what her heart wanted, _who_ it wanted, and that was enough. She didn’t care if the Maitlands found him tomorrow, she didn’t care what outrage might meet her ears come morning. All she cared about was going to him, and telling him what he wanted to hear.

Bare feet made soft, barely audible noises as they rapidly pressed against the hardwood and carpeting as Lydia hurried up to the roof. Her heart was pounding, her breathing was audible, and her blood was rushing through her veins. But stealth was the most important thing right now. She didn’t want anyone stopping her from going to him. There after what seemed like an eternity, at last. The window with its jammed latch so she could always go through it, her portal to sanity and in this case, unholy salvation. Beetlejuice waited for her on the other side of this window, and he wouldn’t have to wait any longer.

Beetlejuice himself had spent the evening alternately looking up to the stars and unfeeling cosmos and fantasizing. Always about Lydia, but the details varied as the hours progressed. Time, she’d said she needed time. But time could cause change, and change wasn’t always a good thing. Thoughts of her running back to confess to him and then they could tarnish the rooftop space much like he’d wanted to when he’d first laid eyes on her, thoughts of her rejecting him only for him to spirit her away and carve himself into her body, mind, and heart until he was the only thing in her universe that mattered anymore, thoughts of what-ifs. If she did return, would they be giving this a go? Sex was something he had experience with, lust was something comforting and familiar. But this would be more than that, could he really do what needed to be done? Be her support, and provider? He knew plenty of graves which had shit that could be robbed, plenty of illegal means to cash, he supposed he could go to work as a bio-exorcist for real, make some money off some spooks who wanted to stick around. Could he be the spouse he was likely expected to be? Did Lydia even _want_ that from him? Did he want her to be some stay at home housewife who had dinner ready on the table for him? Would Lydia even _agree_ to that? He didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. But maybe he was getting ahead of himself as per usual. Take a step back, wait for her to come to him.

He heard the slide of a window within its frame, moving so to provide access to the roof. He waited for the tease of a leg to come through as it always did preceding Lydia’s arrival. There was no one else it could be. She was the only one who knew he was up here, and the Maitlands wouldn’t come looking for her unless she was here already. Had she made up her mind? What would her answer be? Beetlejuice felt a keen sense of anticipation tingling at the back of his neck. If he weren’t already dead, the suspense would be killing him. He thought he saw a brief scrap of black, followed by a long expanse of pale legs as dainty feet reached for the surface of the roof. Then out slid the rest of her, and goddamn she wanted to tease him tonight didn’t she? Why else would she be wearing something he’d love nothing more than to tear to shreds? Lydia pulled herself out of the window frame and looked to him. He was sitting there, back braced against the chimney so like the first time she’d seen him. He wanted to say something, but remembered he was waiting on an answer from her. He didn’t have anything else to say until she did.

For all that anticipation, the moment she saw him her fear seemed to melt away. Lydia felt she had been right in her need to simplify the decision down to the people it affected the most. Her, and him. And as she looked at him she knew she was making the right one. But how to say it? Could she simply tell him yes? Was that even what she wanted to do? She didn’t know if he’d believe her, she’d lied to his face about these exact same feelings once before. Well, technically looking back on it it hadn’t been a _lie_ , she had in fact felt that way from the beginning. But the odds of him actually believing her if she told him that? Lydia absolutely would not be surprised if he didn’t. She certainly wouldn’t. So for a moment all she could do was stand there, staring at him as she breathed. He raised a hand to her in greeting, but said nothing. Take the upper hand, take the upper hand. Lydia immediately rushed to him and paused again for a moment. Due to the nature of the chimney and smoke exhaust’s set up even though he was sitting he was still a bit taller than her. Lydia stepped up, took his face in her hands, and kissed him.

Beetlejuice would never have expected Lydia to forego words in favor of action. But he couldn’t complain when her tongue was pressing insistently against his lips and her hands were in his hair with her nails scratching at his scalp. He opened his mouth and curled his tongue with hers, using his black magic to actually curl his tongue around hers. Without even thinking his hands moved to her body, settling on her hips though he wanted them to roam over every curve. She’d done some filling out since he’d been gone, a fact that was neither unnoticed nor unappreciated. Damn, if he hadn’t thought she was a knockout then, she definitely was now. Was this her way of telling him all of this was his?

In a previous instance she had sealed his fate with a kiss. And now, she was doing it again. But this time his fate was not death, it was life. Her life. Theirs to share. Lydia kissed him until her lungs burned for air and only then did she break apart. She was sitting in his lap on the roof, with him holding her close. Words meant very little, but she felt she needed to say them anyways. To truly put meaning to how she felt, what she was willing to give him, which was her everything.

“I love you,” she confessed, “You’re a pervert, a con, a monster and I love you so much.”

There were tears streaming down her face now as with her confession all the feelings surrounding his disappearance and return were allowed to truly be felt. She was angry, she was elated, she was adamant he never do it again.

“I missed you, don’t you ever disappear on me like that ever again!” she swore at him, kissing him again before he could answer.

Beetlejuice wanted to answer to her confession, because hearing the words “I love you,” meant seriously and earnestly struck something within him. Lydia loved him. She loved _him_ . Despite everything he’d done, she wanted to be with him. And he knew, there were obstacles, the Maitlands, her other parents, society in general. But she was his now, and he wasn’t going to let her go again. He… he loved _her_. He _loved_ her. And she needed to know it. But then she got mad at him, telling him to never leave her again and kissed him before he could respond. He could promise her that. He wasn’t ever going to leave her, never again, and he knew what forever really meant. In the end though, he supposed it didn’t matter, he had all eternity to show her. Words were pretty, but a dime a dozen, actions spoke louder. At least, that was what he had observed. And right now, all he wanted to do was show Lydia just how much he’d missed her. His body certainly had, the stirrings of desire rising from the moment she’d sunk her fingers into his hair. Her mouth was so hot and wet, and Satan below he’d missed this. Missed the little sounds of satisfaction she would make in the back of her throat as he kissed her back, as hands -number varying depending on his mood- roamed her body and those luscious curves of hers. The sweet heat of her living flesh, positively scalding against his perpetually chilled own.

He broke apart to let her breathe, content to let his hands travel over the black silk that barley protected her. Lydia’s panting came in warm puffs that brushed against his neck. Her hands were roving over his shoulders, tugging at his tie in a pleading manner. Her kisses moved from his lips to trailing along his moss covered jaw, tongue flicking out against the greenery that grew on his otherwise lifeless corpse. He felt a tug at his lapels as Lydia whined, squirming in his lap. With the position he was sitting in the tent was only barely noticeable over the plane of his lap. But the arousal was definitely present, and very much loving and hating all the wriggling Lydia was doing.

Lydia just couldn’t get close enough to him. She’d missed this in the months he’d been gone. Her own touch in her most sensitive areas paled in comparison to the barely there caresses he was bestowing on her now. And those were still mostly over her clothes. Sure, he was starting to roam, rubbing at her arms or her thighs. God, what he might do to her, right here. She wanted him to. And then, she thought of Delia’s advice, and a fun way to subvert it. Take the upper hand, eh?

Lydia panted, and spoke through broken labored breaths. Her voice was hoarse from desire, but she just couldn't pass the opportunity up, “Y’know Beej,” she whispered, breath hot against the whorl of his ear, “I know what you came back for.”

“‘Course y’do,” Beetlejuice growled back at her, nibbling on her neck and sliding one hand down to squeeze at her backside, “I toldja,”

“Hmm,” Lydia hummed in the back of her throat, arching against him as he groped her. But it wasn’t quite where she wanted his hands to be. So while he was distracted she reached for one of his hands and took it in her own, “I know what you really missed though,” she teased him, flicking her tongue out against his skin.

“Yeah?” he replied, reaching for her tongue with his, “Wassat?”

“You missed,” Lydia breathed, moving his hand and sticking it under the hem of her nightgown, right up against her underwear that was growing damper with every moment she remained with him, “ _this_.”

Fuck. She did not just stick his hand under her damn skirt. Oh holy Hell, she was hot. She was burning. And fuck him she was so goddamn wet. He couldn’t help himself, his fingers dipped beneath the fabric of her underwear and into the scalding heat of her core. Lydia arched against him again, letting out a long, breathy moan. Fuck what a beautiful sound. He’d missed that sound. Her hands dug into his shoulders as he slid further into her heat. Her walls clenched around him and shit she wasn’t just hot, and wet, she was tight as all get out. He knew she’d been taking care of her own needs in his absence, but he would have expected his spiteful and vindictive little wife to at least _try_ and replace him. Just to show him what for. But she hadn’t, not with any other limp dick at any rate.

Lydia felt so full and all he’d done was stuck two fingers in her. God she’d missed this, the searing contradiction between her heat and his chill. Especially when he moved his fingers against her like that. Lydia clenched around him, trying to suck him in deeper as she kissed him again. In his absence she’d learned a little bit more about what she liked, but everything he did to her now was something she adored. Still, it wasn’t bad to have a little hands on experience for guidance now was it?

“Ah, Beetlejuice!” she hissed in his ear. He twisted his fingers inside her. And as fun as the idea of consummating the rooftop would be, she wanted all of him. On her bed. They hadn’t exactly broken it the last time, and she really wanted them to try, “Bed, now.”

“Eager beaver ain’tcha?” he smirked at her as they broke apart.

“Well, it’s been a while,” Lydia shrugged, “My dads have been extra protective of me after finding out all the things we did in just three days, so sue me if I’m a bit excited about getting laid again.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” Beetlejuice told her, “‘Specially when you had the ghost with the most as your first time. Anyone would want more,”

“So how about you stop talking and get me in my bed and naked before I change my mind,” Lydia raised a brow at him.

“I really don’t think you’re in any position to make demands when I’m already two fingers deep in your snatch,” Beetlejuice shot back at her.

“Keep it up and that’s the _only_ part of you that’s getting in there anytime soon,”

“You really think so don’t you?”

“Do you wanna sit here running your mouth off, or do you wanna fuck me?”

“C’mon babes, you already know the answer to that,”

“Then get your striped ass in gear and get us to my bed so we can actually break it this time,”

“Whatever my Lydia wants,” he simpered, pecking her on the lips. Beetlejuice removed his fingers and sucked them off before cradling her as he stood. With a snap that echoed loudly in the quiet evening they were back in her room. And with an unceremonious toss, Lydia landed on her mattress with him looming over her.

“Now,” he growled, grin devious and eyes gleaming like a cat’s in the darkness, “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?”

There was the sound of tearing and snapping and Lydia felt her silk being pulled away from her. It was hot, to feel that singular claw like nail dragging itself against her skin. Clearly it was sharp, that nightgown hadn’t been any bargain brand silk and to so effortlessly shred it was honestly impressive. However, she was also a bit put out since that had been one of her favorite nightgowns, and it hadn’t been cheap either.

“As hot as that was my nightgown better be in one piece come morning or _this_ ,” she gestured between them, “Won’t be happening again any time soon.”

“You keep sayin’ that but I know ya don’t mean it,” Beetlejuice chuckled, “If it makes ya feel any better I’ll shred some of my clothes too.”

“I think you meant shed,”

“I know what I said Babes, and you know what I mean,” he chuckled. Sure enough, further sounds of ripping and tearing filled the room and she felt the chilled expanse of naked skin brushing against her.

Dirty, moss-laden scruff tickled against her neck as Beetlejuice began trailing kisses down her own neck, clearly heading for one of her breasts. Hands slid along her form, leaving goosebumps and trails of fire in their wake. Little sounds of pleasure escaped Lydia as her hands roamed over him in the dark. She clutched at his head, fingers tangling in his perpetually messy hair as he found one of the peaks of her breasts and began to lave at it, suckling noisily. Tingles of heat fired from her nerve endings and spread through out her body, landing in her clit which seemed to have a pulse of its own.

It was still so hard for him to believe that all of this was real; that his reality was that Lydia Deetz, the girl he had done everything to keep by his side, loved him. Him, the one who had always been unwanted and unseen. But she had seen. She had wanted him around. She _loved_ him. He’d seen love do plenty of things. Even if ol’ Willie Shakes had some contradictory views on the relationship between love and death Beetlejuice had seen first hand what some people would do for the ones they loved. They would die for them, kill for them, but very rarely live for them. And yet here they were at the most physically possible manifestation of the bond between life and death; a living girl and her dead lover. Bound for all eternity by a magic as old as existence itself.

He hadn’t said he loved her back. Mainly because she hadn’t given him the chance to. And sure, in the middle of hot reunion sex hardly seemed like the right time to finally say it out loud, but he had always been a master of inopportune timing anyways. Besides, the desire to parrot her words, respond to them in kind as he showed with every action the strength of his dark and obsessive devotion to her prompted him to speak.

“Babes,” his words were practically a snarl, whole body tense with desire and feelings he knew no demon should ever possess. But he couldn’t help it, she was his, and she loved him, therefore he loved her, “I need t’tell ya,” but he was better with actions than he was with words, and so he bit down at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, claiming her as his own before he added, “I love you.”

Back arched, she froze, eyes wide and nearly cleared of desire. Fingers clenched, digging tiny crescent marks into his shoulders, “ _What_?” her voice was barely above a whisper, and she seemed almost afraid. But somehow, not.

He said it again, “I love you,” and again, “I love you Lydia,” and third time was the charm, “I love you, love you, love you.”

One might have thought repeating it like some sort of prayer would make him look like a sap. But to Lydia each utterance only further stoked the fires of her passion for him. Here was a being of brimstone and fire, vice and sin, lust and damnation. And he loved her. He loved her. She couldn’t believe it.

Heavy hands were at her hips and with a quick tug were gone, met only by the sticky resistance of her own arousal. Once again fingers sheathed themselves within her, and her muscles fluttered around them. Soft moans became long and drawn out as his kisses descended down her sternum to join his fingers, nose nudging at that little bundle of nerves as his tongue dove in for a meal.

Wet sounds of suckling met her ears, but to Lydia it was barely audible beneath the pounding of her heart and the frantic fragments of thoughts and emotions that threatened to completely overwhelm her in conjunction with everything he was doing to her. He loved her, he really, truly loved her. Whatever love meant to him, he loved her. And she loved him. They belonged together, to one another, now and forever. ‘Til death would they never part again. And Lydia was just about ready to die right there. His fingers moved in time with the flicks of his tongue. Her fingers tugged mercilessly at his hair, her thighs were quivering under his ministrations. Closer and closer she came to that peak, the one she’d had to work to get to alone. But he made it look so effortless, so easy, and Lydia knew she’d never have to worry about it again. Faster and faster, deeper, hotter, he urged her on. Her whole body felt tight, like it wasn’t her own. She was possessed, but it was an entirely different kind of possession that had taken hold of her. It was possession in its most human form, possession by another person, her other half. A filthy, dirty, perverted ancient monster of a man, and she whole-heartedly embraced her own submission.

Lydia had climaxed enough times by this point to know what the feeling felt like. That freefall of jumping off a cliff and into a crystalline pool below. She’d forgotten what it felt like when Beetlejuice made her come. It wasn’t the sensation of reaching a highest point and then leaping off of it. No, it was like being played upon as a finely tuned instrument, used for the fiercest and most complicated piece of musical art, and breaking completely under the pressure. Lydia felt her entire body like a singular nerve, a livewire ready to catch flames from overload, a tightly coiled spring, or a bowstring wound too tightly. The pressure, the heat, the flames all too much. With a gentle slide, a single lick, she broke apart entirely. Shattered beneath her husband’s ministrations. Her sounds of climax swallowed by a dirty mouth as she arched against him. Even as she descended into temporary oblivion she felt the chill of him up against her heat, and plunging deep beneath the waves of pleasure she struggled to the surface of coherency so she could once again experience all he in honesty had to offer her.

There would be time for magic tricks later. Time for all sorts of taboos to be thought up and broken. Beetlejuice had been deprived of his bride for far too long to bother with more showmanship than absolutely necessary. Lydia’s first orgasm was merely to remind her of what she had so long been made to do without, to remind her of why she would never want to leave him. Not that she would be able to now. She’d given herself to him, and this time he would sooner take all she had and leave nothing remaining than risk losing her again. As impatient as he was he knew the importance of timing in situations like these. Fun as it might be to claim here through her own incoherency and fuck her straight through several climaxes this first joining would be to prove a point inarguably; that she was his completely and utterly. He knew it, and he knew that she knew it as well, but he would make sure it was something she would never be able to forget from here on out. Content as he might be to let her take charge, this was to remind her of who was really in charge. When her muscles went limp around him he withdrew and hovered over her once again. If there were such a thing as a Madonna of depravity this would be the picture right here, below him. And far be it from him not to further add to the artistic vision.

He leaned down and kissed her back into consciousness. Lydia tasted so damn good he almost didn’t mind doing nothing but this all night long. But of course, the key word there was _almost_. As in, he _almost_ wasn’t horny enough to keep himself from fucking her. He felt her come back to life beneath him as her mouth opened up and her hands once again curled around him. Her embrace felt like home. But not quite as home as that space deep within her body. Beetlejuice broke the kiss and nudged his nose against her as he lined himself up at her entrance,

“Y’ready Babes?” though his voice was a husky whisper it sounded deafening in the quite darkness of the room only otherwise broken by their hushed and shallow breathing.

He didn’t have to be able to see in the dark, he could hear her smile in her voice as she pulled him close and whispered one word in his ear, “ _Showtime_ ,”

Beetlejuice pushed forward into her, thankfully not having to worry as much about hurting her this time around. Between the prep he’d already done and the fact that this was no longer her first time made for an enjoyable slide, with all the tightness that her celibacy had given him. He’d thought she was tight around his fingers but it was nothing compared to the way she felt around his cock. Like a glove, a perfect vise. Perfection had a name and her name was Lydia Deetz. The girl was practically made for him, and him alone. He was able to bury himself completely in her with barely three pushes, Lydia’s breath hit him in soft waves as she tried to breathe through his intrusion. He was so big, bigger than anything she’d had in a _while_ , and while it felt good it was also an adjustment to get through. Though honestly Lydia felt like she could break around him and not even care so long as he made her feel as good as he had with his fingers and tongue. Which, knowing Beetlejuice, wasn’t going to be that hard for him.

The sound of her hissing as he withdrew was almost like music to his ears. Probably his third favorite sound in the world, right below screams, and definitely below her other noises of pleasure. With a quick jerk of his hips he was fully seated in her once again, and it was a beautiful sight to see her complete violation in beautiful red color around him. Beetlejuice withdrew again, and pressed inward, delighting in the lewd sounds of suction and squelching that resounded from their unholy union. In, out, picking up the pace as he continued to brace himself over her. Hmm, he idly thought he’d have to try having her on top one of these days, it would be just adorable to see her tiny frame stretched to its limits as she impaled herself on top of him. But not now, now was the time to carve into every inch of her being that she had chosen to become a bride of the devil, and to never forget that promise. His, all his, to have and to hold, forever. The speed of his thrusts became faster and faster as he picked up the pace, the sounds of Lydia’s pleasure egging him on. Sounds that almost sounded like words escaped her as he continued to ply her with sensation,

“Yes, plea- righ- oh!” and other nonsensical syllables dropped from her lips even as she yearned to say more. All the filthy depraved half-thoughts that she knew would drive him beyond the edge of madness, unlock some bestial entity she could see hiding in his eyes, had seen moments of in the time he had extorted her, the villain in him, the monster who would sooner kill her than let her go. But there would be time for that later. They now had all the time in the world with their reunion. So all she could plead was for him to break her, to shatter her once again until she was nothing more than pieces so broken she might never be whole without him again. But what was wholeness without someone to share it with anyways?

Her fingers clutched tightly to his back, her hips moved in tandem with his own. She vaguely heard the rhythmic knocking of her headboard as it slammed against the wall. Surely it would leave marks. Surely, there would be questions come morning. Lydia didn’t particularly care. Her parents could rant and rave and yell and scream all they liked. As far as she was concerned Beetlejuice was back where he belonged, in her bed, and in her world. Her heart threatened to give out it was beating so fast, and a more cynical side of her would later wonder if this wasn’t his form of revenge for killing him on their wedding day. The current her was too preoccupied with demonic pleasure as her husband claimed her over and over again. It was good, so good, better than good but words were barely threads of thought in her mind as every single one of her synapses began to overload on sensation. Let the whole house fall around them, let every spirit of Hell come to watch this spectacle. Lydia no longer cared, her demon loved her.

For a being who reveled in sin and pleasure, there was perhaps no greater pleasure than being inside Lydia Deetz. Every curve of her body inside and out was a testament to the idea that maybe there was a God. And in her they had created his own personal heaven. He could do this, do _her_ until time ceased to have any meaning, and for the dead it already held very little. And yet, the heat, the intensity of her grip around him, her soft unspoken declaration that he was _hers_ just as much as she was his was too much. A mind tortured by the desire to be seen, to belong, to have and to hold would be weak against someone giving him exactly what he wanted. Lydia was meant to stay by his side, but nowhere in that statement was the indication she would ever have to like it. And yet, she did. She liked it. She loved it. She loved _him_. She saw him, she got him in a way that no one else ever would, and she was his. Empty pleasure sought between the legs of some nameless, faceless whore was nothing compared to the living heat of Lydia Deetz. His wife, his beloved cursed bride. Facsimile pleasure was abandoned as real pleasure took its place with every touch, every thrust. He saw that edge of oblivion the same as her, and knew that she would be taking him with her in a slow descent into the dark waves of sinful satisfaction. With one thrust, two, three, it was over. Lydia’s back arched and once again that low keening moan escaped her. He didn’t have the presence of mind to silence her, only to ensure that the door could not be opened by any unwanted interlopers. And thereafter he followed her into the abyss.

BJ BJ BJ

Nightmares had plagued Barbara and Adam after dinner, and not even the embraces of their still secret lovers had been enough to calm their restless minds. Delia had said she had talked to Lydia, and that Lydia would simply be doing some thinking. The cause of the return of her morose and wistful behavior did not seem attributed to the grief which had once nearly consumed her. The truth about Emily Deetz had left its scars but therapy seemed to be helping out in that regard. But as for what had brought on this episode of pensive introspection and quiet melancholy Delia would not say, fobbing it off as, “Just one of those days of hers,” and leaving it at that.

All attempts to discover the cause were met with deflection and eventually outright refusal to betray the young woman’s confidence. Delia had begged for them to leave well enough alone and forget their worries for a night to enjoy some time together. Lydia being locked up in her room left an opportunity for open affection they otherwise rarely got.

And yet, the Maitlands worried. They had heard that menacing voice, it haunted every shadow in their house late at night. The fear that the demon would be back. Juno had returned to explain that there was no possible way for the union between Beetlejuice and Lydia to be broken, that they were inextricably tied to one another for all eternity. This had been news that had been kept from Lydia herself, and for good reason. Lydia still had a whole life ahead of her, and she should have the chance to live it free from the shadow of that striped hellion looming over her. They didn’t tell her solely because they loved her and thought they were protecting her. When Charles had found out this news he’d been torn, not wanting to keep secrets of that magnitude from Lydia but recognizing telling her would likely do nothing but stress her out, or so they all believed. The Maitlands adamantly refused to believe Lydia would willingly have anything to do with the demon physically, that there had been some sort of supernatural persuasion involved to get what he wanted from her. He had been set free, and there was no reason to assume otherwise that her indignant behavior hadn’t been from shame and embarrassment at the depravity he had forced her to endure at his hands.

Even still, the thought that he could one day come back, fully within his rights to take the bride he had wedded away from them because she had said yes and married him, was horrifying. And so was the idea that perhaps someone had contacted Lydia and told her what they already knew. Perhaps that had been what she was fretting about. That someday the demon would come back for her. It would certainly be enough to send anyone into a state such as hers had been the night before. Unable to eat or socialize and desiring solely to lock oneself away with only their thoughts as they contemplated their fate. But Lydia was too used to being alone, and dealing with her internal problems all by herself. It would be hard for her to remember that she had others to rely on. They decided to give her the night, and remind her in the morning she had people who loved her all around her, and that she could always come to them no matter what.

But the nightmares had still come. A steady thump, thump of heavy boots upon the hardwood floors, shadows of stripes and hellish eyes that leered from within the darkness. The sounds of demonic growls that emanated from him, of girlish screams of fright that came from Lydia as they watched tendrils of inky black restrain her and drag her into the darkness. And all the while they were helpless, unable to do anything as pain rippled through their normally unfeeling forms. The vision of Beetlejuice holding Lydia within his arms, leering at her victoriously as he delivered a disgusting lick of his tongue from her neck to her cheek, the intention to do far worse was what had woken them. Naturally the Maitlands had sought comfort in Charles and Delia’s bed, only barely able to get some semblance of sleep in the early hours of the morning. When sunlight filtered through the curtains the Maitlands opened their eyes, still plagued from sleeplessness and never more thankful than now that their bodies no longer required rest. Barbara was on autopilot as she decided to get up and start preparing breakfast for the family. Cooking was simple, cooking would also require her to focus completely and therefore keep her mind off the visions that felt so prophetic the night before. Adam offered to help her, and set the table while she finished up. So that was what they did.

The scents of delicious food were the usual alarm clock for all living members of the household. Hunger was a hell of a motivator, and the only thing that could otherwise compete with sleep. But while Charles and Delia came down in their dressing gowns and still half asleep like any other day, Lydia still failed to show up by the time food was on plates on the table. This was concerning, had she been up all night plagued by stressful thoughts too? Would whatever was bothering her begin to affect her eating habits? Worries began to spiral out of control, but thankfully it was a Saturday, which meant a little spoiling could be afforded. Barbara got out the breakfast tray and loaded it with everything Lydia would need for energy for the day. Then she took it and floated up the stairs, Adam right behind her to help out. The male Maitland softly knocked on Lydia’s door, hoping not to startle her awake; Lydia could be so surly when abruptly woken by an outside force after all. But upon receiving no answer they decided to sneak in and at least leave the tray on her nightstand in the meantime.

They were not expecting the sight that met their eyes beyond that door. It was as if all those nightmares had now come to life before them. Because the first thing they saw was that shock of greenish blonde hair, followed by a terrifying expanse of pale skin. And truly, it was only just his arms and the very upper half of his torso. But the indication was clear; Beetlejuice was back, and he was naked, _and_ he was in Lydia’s bed. And there in his arms as the visions had predicted, was Lydia herself. Even from this distance the Maitlands could see she sported all the marks of a rough and amorous night. Barbara was so startled she dropped the tray she’d been holding as her entire form flickered, allowing the solid object to phase right through it.

Lydia had awoken earlier that morning from one of the best dreams she’d had in months. That Beetlejuice had come back, that he’d confessed that he loved her, and then they had reaffirmed that love several times over the course of one long, late, and seemingly endless night. But of course, that was all it could be; just a dream. Until she felt a lukewarm presence that was most definitely _not_ her blanket enveloping her. Her eyes opened to see the room dimly lit by hazy dawning light and found herself staring at a pale expanse of skin far too close to her own face, adjusting the position of her head allowed her to happily realize the visions of last night had not been a dream at all. It had been real, all of it. And here lay her dearly departed husband, in her bed with her in his arms. Happiness had never felt so exhausting, and thus it was easy to snuggle back into his embrace and fully fall back to the world of unconscious pleasantries conjured up by her own mind. But Lydia no longer needed to dream, not when her waking world was far better than anything a dream could heretofore produce. And as for Beetlejuice, being dead he didn’t need to sleep, but he could enjoy that hazy in-between state of being neither fully awake nor fully unconscious. He knew all he needed to know, that Lydia was back in his afterlife, and in his arms; precisely where she belonged. Idle thoughts and fantasies half-formed within his mind’s eye as he contented to let the hours pass in otherwise blissful quasi-oblivion. But of course, paradise was not something attainable by human hands, even if his hands weren't human. He vaguely heard the sound of soft knocking but elected to ignore it, he had nothing he needed to worry about. Lydia was here with him, therefore all was right with the world. At least, it was until he heard the sound of the door opening, and then a shocked gasp followed by the clattering and crashing noise of something breakable hitting the ground. Oh crap, that reminded him, Lydia had wanted her nightgown repaired, with a twitch of his nose it was done and Beetlejuice hunkered back down, uncaring of who had walked in on them. He was being nice since this definitely could have been worse. He’d been nursing morning wood for a fair amount of time now, staved off only by the contented feeling of having Lydia all to himself in their own little world.

But the sounds of shock and horror were of course what woke his bride. He felt Lydia stir in his arms, yawning and stretching and he cracked open an eye hoping to get a glimpse of cleavage all up in his face. Unfortunately she hadn’t stretched quite that high but she still looked sleepy and sated and he couldn’t help but take pride in that. Beetlejuice nuzzled her neck, taking sadistic glee in the choking noises he was rousing from whoever it was they had for an audience. A quick flick of his glance told him all he needed to know. The Maitlands, of course. Red was a freak so she’d sooner cheer for Lydia getting some rather than be horrified, and old Chuck would have dropped dead on the spot. Oh well, he supposed as fun as it would have been to sneak around this was in a sense better. Because him and Lydia were already married, he had every right to be here, and he loved making those two sticks in the mud uncomfortable. Beetlejuice stretched with one arm and returned it to Lydia’s side as she sat up against him.

Lydia was abruptly awoken from tender sleep by the sounds of crashing and clattering. Her eyes shot open to find her husband still at her side, dozing contentedly. But her attention was quickly drawn to the source of the noise, Adam and Barbara, and the remains of what might have been her breakfast. She should have known they wouldn’t let their concern keep to themselves. Frankly, she considered it a miracle that Delia had been the one to come and talk to her last night while they held off. Even so, Lydia supposed she had a bit of explaining to do. She knew that they wouldn’t be happy Beetlejuice was back, especially now that they’d found him with her in a compromising situation. But Lydia wasn’t about to deny or excuse her actions. She was practically an adult, Beetlejuice and her were already married, there was nothing beyond their own bad blood between them that kept him from liking him. Lydia had already forgiven him.

She sighed, “I know what this looks like,” she began, only to be cut off by the cacophonous response of Adam and Barbara speaking -more like _shrieking_ \- all at once. Lydia held up a hand, “We can have this talk downstairs, where everyone is a bit calmer and more civil. In the meantime,” Lydia shifted, taking the blanket with her to cover her nudity in front of her parental figures, “I need to get dressed,”

“Oh baby,” Beetlejuice growled playfully, tugging on a section of the blanket to keep her near him lest she be exposed, “Do ya really _need_ ta?”

Lydia rolled her eyes in a fondly exasperated manner, “You need to get dressed too Beetlejuice,” she told him, “We’re _all_ going to be having a conversation this morning.”

“Yeah, sure we are,” he teased. Lydia sighed again,

“I mean it,” turning to the Maitlands she said, “Can you give us a moment? Apparently I need to discipline my prodigal husband,”

Barbara and Adam could only manage sputters in response. They stared at Lydia in disbelief. So long they had been comforted by the thought that Lydia had been coerced under possession or duress to sleep with the demon. But now they were faced with irrefutable proof that Lydia had done what she’d wanted, with no coercion necessary. And that was almost as much a shock to the system as Beetlejuice’s return was. So all they could do besides make incoherent sounds of disgust and disapproval was do as Lydia had asked. They returned to the table absolutely numb and when questioned by Charles and Delia they merely shook their heads and said that Lydia had a big surprise for them all.

Meanwhile Lydia turned on Beetlejuice and put her hands on her hips, still holding up the sheet while he lay there completely at home in his own skin, “Was that really necessary?” she asked him.

“Whatever the that is you’re talking about, yes,” Beetlejuice responded flippantly.

Lydia sighed, “Just because I love you doesn’t mean every stupid thing you do is going to be overlooked you know. You didn’t have to make it so hard on them.”

“Babes, the only thing that’s hard right now is me,” he replied, gesturing to the part of him calling out for her attention.

“Well suck it up buttercup,” Lydia shot back at him, “You’re gonna have to repress that hard-on like the world’s ugliest Ken doll for the moment, because there’s no way in hell that any of them are gonna let us fuck before talking.”

“The fuck is there to talk about?” Beetlejuice asked her, “I’m back, we’re together, end of discussion.”

“You know they’re gonna have issues,”

“So tell them to fuck off!”

“Beej, they’re my family. And since I’m your wife, they’re your family too. I know, I know, no one likes their in-laws, but for my sake can’t you _try_ to help smooth over this little snafu so we don’t have fighting over which ghosts can stay and which can’t?”

“I don’t do nice,” Beetlejuice grumbled, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes at her.

“But you can act,” Lydia countered, “And if you can play nice, I promise I’ll make it worth your while,”

“Oh yeah?” he raised a brow, smiling salaciously at all the rewards she might be hinting at, “How so?”

“Mmm,” Lydia hummed, “I’m sure you’re still going to want that taken care of later right?” she asked, nodding in the direction of his cock, “I suppose I could be… _persuaded_ to help you out there,” she added, licking her lips meaningfully, “I’m sure I’m going to be _famished_ anyways,”

And with that proclamation she dropped the sheet and sauntered into her closet to get dressed. Yep, it was official, he was fucked and he wasn’t even mad about it.

A few minutes later they were sitting at the dining room table with her parents and the Maitlands on the other side. The atmosphere was tense, but only Beetlejuice seemed unaffected. Lydia was sitting there with a stubborn set to her jaw, she’d said her peace and she was sticking by it. Charles looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel, the Maitlands were looking on in confusion and disappointment, and Delia seemed rather concerned yet serene.

“So…” she began attempting to break the awkward silence, “Was this what the questions were about last night?”

Delia in fact already had figured as much, but knowing her husband’s temper, and their lovers’ anxieties, she thought it best to play as obtuse as possible.

Lydia sighed, “Yeah,” she admitted, “He came back about an hour or so earlier and confessed to me. And…” she took a deep breath, “I did think about rejecting him because I knew what you guys would think.”

“Why stop at think when you could have done?” Adam asked unhelpfully, silenced when both Lydia and Beetlejuice glared at him.

“What Adam means,” Barbara cut in, “Is that, Lydia, remember everything he’s done to us. He’s not a good person, and you want to waste your life being with him?”

“I’m already bound to him,” Lydia shrugged, “So what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that that thing is a monster!” Charles exploded, “And I nearly lost you once because of him!”

“He also saved me,” Lydia countered, “I never told you this because I knew you wouldn’t understand, but the night we met, the night I caught you and Delia together, I was going to throw myself off the roof. And Beej stopped me. Yeah; he was doing it for selfish reasons at the time, but because of him, I’m still here. I know he’s not the best guy, I know he can be a monster. But this monster _loves_ me. And I love him.”

The four adults looked between each other, each of them knowing what wanted to be said. How could she know anything about love? She was still so young. And first loves… they were special but they weren’t meant to last forever. But Adam and Barbara didn’t have a leg to stand on in this instance. They’d been high school sweethearts, they’d been each other’s first love and despite the separation of college where attempts to get over one another had been made, they’d ended up back together. And so they had stayed ever since. Emily had been Charles’ first real love so he couldn’t argue with his daughter either, because he knew she’d call him out on it. And Delia, well Delia wasn’t nearly as adverse to the demon’s return as anyone else was, even though she arguably had the most reason to be. He had tried to strongarm her into marrying him, until Lydia had returned. But it was very clear any affection he had for Lydia and Lydia alone. He loved her, despite the fact that none of her partners likely believed that fact. But Delia saw it. Their auras were calmer around each other, and there was a palpable warmth and serenity that happened when they were together. Naturally it wouldn’t last, their personalities were far too volatile and conflicts were bound to happen. But they were drawn to one another and no disagreement would ever be able to sever them. Neither would any parental disapproval. Not that she really disapproved of Beetlejuice, she actually thought he and Lydia made an adorable couple, but all she was going to do at this point was mediate and try to smooth things over.

Lydia was watching all of their reactions play out on their faces. She hadn’t expected them to approve, she hadn’t even expected them to be accepting. Just because she’d forgiven Beetlejuice didn’t mean she expected them to do the same. But was it too much to ask for a bit of family unity? Just this once?

“Look,” she sighed, “I’m not asking you to like him, you don’t even have to forgive him for what he’s done! Just,” she looked to her husband and took his hand in her own, “Please, for my sake, can we all manage to co-exist? At least until I move out?”

“Lydia we’re just worried for you,” Barbara replied, “He left you once already,”

“Because he thought it was best for everybody if he _did_ ,” Lydia countered, “And I’ve been thinking about him every day since. And now he’s back and because you don’t like him you want me to give him up? Can’t you at least give him a chance?”

“Babes,” Beetlejuice cut in, “They ain’t gonna forgive me, because no human’s that good ‘cept you ‘course.”

He turned to the disapproving parentals and continued, “Like it or not Lydia’s my wife. I can take her away from all of you and I promise you’ll never see her again. The only reason I haven’t already is because she loves you schmucks and being with ya makes her happy. And I like seein’ my baby happy. Jus’ know I don’t otherwise give a flyin’ fuck about any of you and would happily leave you all behind if it wouldn’t make her sad. Like Lyds said, y’don’t have to like me. But y’ _do_ need to put up with me, because I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Never again.” Beetlejuice looked to Lydia one last time and added, “Believe it or not, I do love Lydia, an I ain’t gonna let anyone stand in the way of that. But I can compromise for her sake, don’t need to bury the hatchet, but I can agree to put up with you if you’ll agree to put up with me fer now.”

“Lydia,” Charles sighed resignedly, knowing there was absolutely no way to get rid of him and any obstinancy on his part would just draw out the drama, “Are you sure… _he’s_ the one you want?”

Lydia nodded, “More than anything,” she told him, “I know you don’t get it but,” she shrugged, “I love him.”

“And you, you promise not to break her heart?” Charles asked the demonic specter.

“Not on purpose,” Beetlejuice offered, “Which is as good as my word gets,”

Charles felt a vein in his temple throb, “I suppose we can work something out then, some ground rules. But I swear to god if you ever, _ever_ make her cry I will tear you apart limb from limb, is that understood?”

Beetlejuice smirked at the other man, “Kinky,” he remarked, “But crystal clear. Now, can we go? I’m bored and horny and liable to start hitting on your boy toy if I don’t get out of here,”

And then Charles turned puce, “What the- how did you-”

“What, you think I only just got back?” Beetlejuice scoffed, “I’ve been hanging around a while, and enjoying the shows, didn’t know Red had a tattoo _there_ -”

“You goddamn bastard!” Charles lunged across the table only to nearly fall on his face as Beetlejuice instantly disappeared, cackling all the while.

Well, she’d asked him to play nice, she should have expected it wouldn’t last long. Yet another new normal for Lydia Deetz. But the antics made her smile, made her laugh. And the other three watched this. Like him or not, he made her happy, and all they really wanted was Lydia’s happiness. She’d said they didn’t have to like him, but they could try to put up with him for her sake. It was with those words they dismissed her and Lydia returned to her room where, surprise surprise, Beetlejuice was already waiting.

“I thought I told you to play nice,” Lydia smiled as she closed and locked the door behind her.

“I did!” Beetlejuice protested, “But I just couldn’t resist. I assume they were keeping it a secret from you?”

“More of an open, don’t ask don’t tell kind of secret,” Lydia replied, “But I have to admit, you did really good. You didn’t even bring up making up for lost time with me in front of my father,”

“I do have _some_ sense of proper topics to bring up around parents,” Beetlejuice argued, “I just normally don’t give a shit.”

“But you did it for me,” Lydia put a hand to her heart, “My knight in filthy stripes,”

“And don’t you forget it babes,” Beetlejuice reminded her, flopping back on her bed, “Fuck that was exhausting,”

Lydia smirked, “I know,” she said, tone all sweet sympathy as she slowly made her way over to the bed, “You were so _good_ just then, it must have been so… _hard_ for you,”

“Harder than you know,” he said, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Poor baby,” Lydia simpered, crawling up and settling over him, “Well don’t you worry about a thing now. Just lie back and let me take care of you,”

“That’s my girl,” he said, reaching up and cupping her cheek in one hand, sliding his thumb over her lips. Lydia sucked on it in response and smiled,

“I’m not your girl,” she told him, “I’m your _wife_ , and don’t you forget it.”

“When it’s all I wanted? Hardly,” Beetlejuice replied.

So one day melted into the next and Beetlejuice slowly managed to begrudgingly work his way into the dynamic of the Deetz-Maitland household. It was only his devotion to Lydia that made him even a little bit tolerable. Sure, they had their fights and disagreements, but Lydia had never been happier than when she was with Beetlejuice. And for the first time in almost a year, there were no longer any ghosts or shadows in her eyes, only deep in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I urge you that if you enjoyed this chapter, and this story overall, to please leave a comment and let me know. I want to thank you all once again for reading my work and giving me the motivation to not abandon the story part way through. You all are the reason ISS exists, and I want to stress just how much every comment and like and bookmark has meant to me. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart thank you. And until next time my Netherlings, this is Lady Strange, signing off

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you all for reading and until next time Netherlings!


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